


Irooni

by DameOfNoDelicacy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Pre-Canon, Romance, Trust, Zanpakutou, shikai, some language, some violence, young shunsui, young ukitake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:43:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8515474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameOfNoDelicacy/pseuds/DameOfNoDelicacy
Summary: Young Kyōraku Shunsui, terrified of his shikai and floundering more than he'd like to admit in his first year at the Shinigami Academy, meets a strange, kind, white-haired student with extraordinary spiritual pressure and an unexpectedly ready smile.At first, he thinks he's finally - finally - found a friend.At first.(Rated M largely because I'm a bit paranoid - it's really not *that* kind of story, but I'd rather be safe!)*Officially, this work is currently on hiatus. The author may occasionally update the work, but cannot, unfortunately, guarantee regular updates. Rest assured, though, that the author thinks about this fic constantly, and will, without question, continue writing it until it's finished - it's just a matter of when. Thank you for your support, encouragement, and understanding!*





	1. White

Kyōraku Shunsui knows many things.

Kyōraku Shunsui knows how to make friends. He knows how to hold his shaggy head high on formal occasions. He knows how to read and write and recite poetry. He knows how to dress – or, he thinks he does, anyway. These days, he can say, with both honesty and pride, that he knows how to use _shunpo_ and _kidō_ – and, as of just yesterday, he knows how to call the name of his zanpakutō.

When it comes down to it, Kyōraku Shunsui is skilled, and he knows it.

Kyōraku Shunsui is just damn _good –_ he smiles to himself, chuckles softly – and he knows it.

And, more than anything, Kyōraku Shunsui knows how to drink.

As he sips his sake, a fragrant vintage that walks the line between subtlety and dryness almost perfectly, he reflects that the same is not true of several of his comrades. “Work hard, play hard” isn’t exactly the motto of the Shinigami Academy, after all; without question, students and teachers alike emphasize the “work hard” half of that mantra. Shunsui is no exception, of course. But he finds his lessons fairly easy, and most components of combat come naturally to him – it’s just the way Shunsui is. And so, Shunsui takes regular advantage of his consequently ample free time and fortuitously ample resources, and Shunsui drinks.

Tonight is a little different, though, and truthfully, Shunsui isn’t sure whether he welcomes the change. Tonight is not solitude and string music stuck in your head and clear-sky-glimpses of stars while lying on your back in the long grass. No - tonight is a celebration. Tonight marks the half-year anniversary of his and his companions’ entrance into the Shinigami Academy. Paper lanterns hang on draped, braided strings above Shunsui’s head, casting the tranquil garden in a warm, ruddy light. It probably disguises the flush that is undoubtedly creeping into many of his friends’ cheeks, thinks Shunsui, whose dark complexion, constant brown stubble, and experience with inebriation prevent such a flush in his own face. Still, he likes to imagine that the glow of the lanterns adds a little extra something to his sharp but otherwise uninteresting features. A tinge of life, perhaps? A tinge of handsomeness? Sex appeal? Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Shunsui’s night thus far has passed in vague flashes of color, nothing more. Shunsui’s night has passed in the red of the lanterns, in the cobalt and the maroon of swishing uniforms, in the black of shining hair, in the subtle silvery flashes of light off of a few students’ spectacles. It has passed in the muted green of the grassy ground. It has passed in the murky brown of tree trunks, and in the pink of cherry blossoms. And all is cast against the rich navy of the night sky, which stretches endlessly above their heads. And, the moon – the moon glows orange tonight. Shunsui knows he’s spoken, knows he’s laughed and raised his cup with his classmates. Of _course_ he has. But this is not what Shunsui remembers.

Shunsui remembers the colors.

A few of the students at his table are eagerly shouting and slurring their way through a conversation about shikai. They’d begun by hammering away at Shunsui with questions about his own newly-discovered shikai - _“Two big-ass swords, huh?”_ and _“Dude! S’it true your release command is, like, a poem or some shit?”_ and _“How’s it feel, man? Being the second student in our year to get shikai and all? You must be pretty proud of yourself. I sure would be, if I were you...”_

At first, Shunsui had done his best to be tolerant, and patient, and even gracious towards their questions. But as the evening and the questions had worn on, Shunsui’s answers had grown shorter and more pointed. He’d felt his mood turning darker and darker, and had felt his confidence wearing thinner and thinner, as his friends’ curiosity mounted and as their eager questions persisted. _They have no freakin’ idea_ , he’d thought, knocking back cup after cup of sake and grinding his teeth together as subtly as he could manage. _No freakin’ idea at all - no freakin’ idea what this power of mine can do._

Eventually, he’d waved away his classmates’ questions altogether. It’s a party, after all, and Shunsui doesn’t want to dampen the mood by dwelling on unpleasant subjects, if he can help it; he’s not about to spoil the celebration for everyone else. He’s perfectly happy to wallow solitarily inside his own miserable head.

That, it seemed, had been just fine by Shunsui’s friends; they’d promptly followed up by whispering excitedly about the first student who’d achieved shikai instead. It had happened just last week, and no one at the table actually knew the guy, as it turned out, but of course, that hadn’t stopped them from confidently spouting the rumors they’d heard - _“The entire training grounds shook when he did it. Everyone who was there says so! His spiritual pressure’s supposed to be massive!”_ and _“It’s a water-type, I think! Or - shit, maybe it’s a kidō-type? Shit - I don’t remember, actually,”_ and, the most far-fetched claim in Shunsui’s opinion, _“I heard he fainted afterwards. I mean, like - straight-up passed out and fell over! Ha! How freakin’ funny is that?”_

And so, having successfully discouraged his friends for the time being - _thank the gods_ , Shunsui can’t help but think - Shunsui pours himself another cup of sake, and he leans back, and he watches the festivities go by.

At times like this, Shunsui can’t help but wax a little contemplative. To say that Kyōraku Shunsui is lonely would be a grand and pathetic exaggeration. Kyōraku Shunsui is most certainly _not_ lonely. Shunsui has never lacked for company. As he observes the merriment around him, he has no trouble pointing out several individuals with whom he’s shared a drink, with whom he’s sparred, with whom he’s spent late nights talking and laughing and philosophizing. And, of course, there are more than a few with whom he’s interacted on a slightly more intimate level – because Kyōraku Shunsui knows how to reel in a girl when he wants to, too.

But despite all this, something still perpetually leaves Kyōraku Shunsui feeling – _feeling what? Empty? No, that’s not quite right_ , Shunsui thinks, and he frowns.

“Hey, you okay, man?” whispers one of the students at his table, turning to Shunsui and nudging him gently in the arm.

“Huh?” Shunsui starts. _Must’a seen my dopey facial expression_ , he reasons. “Aww, yeah,” he drawls, “fine. Just fine.”

“Just checkin’,” the student says, smiling. “You looked a little upset for a second there.” Seemingly reassured, he turns back to the rest of the group.

 _Well,_ thinks Shunsui. _I just told that guy a bald-faced lie_.

And then it hits him.

There, in the middle of the celebratory revels and beneath the dull glow of the lantern lights, Kyōraku Shunsui comes to a startling conclusion. _I… I’ve never been fully honest with even one of my friends, have I?_ The force of the realization shocks him. On principle, Kyōraku Shunsui is not generally a liar – but it isn’t as simple as that. Shunsui has been living guarded by half-truths, by masquerades, by approximations and oversimplifications. The things Shunsui says and does aren’t _false_ , not exactly, but to say that they accurately represent who he is… well. That wouldn’t exactly be spot-on either.

His friends, Shunsui knows, would never, never be able to guess at the true powers of Shunsui’s shikai, and Shunsui sure as hell isn’t about to tell them – _and,_ he reflects, _it’s probably better that way_. As long as he lets them, Shunsui’s friends will continue to view him as carefree, fun-loving, even lazy. His friends will continue to view him as an unshaven slacker who, despite his lack of discipline, will never want for female companionship. His friends will continue to view him as an awkward splash of, say, pink among black, who does little more than slake his perpetual thirst with sake and draw his swords only when explicitly ordered to do so.

Shunsui stares intently at the faces – _pink skin, brown hair, yellow hair, bronze spectacles_ – that flit across his field of vision. _None of them know me. None of them_ . What’s more, to his surprise, he can only attach names to about half of the faces he sees. _Maybe that’s the guy who figured out his shikai,_ Shunsui thinks absently, as his eyes flicker over the reveling crowd. _Or… maybe it’s him? Could be that guy, I guess… or, him… or, maybe –_

A roar of laughter off to his right grabs his attention. A large group of students all stand in something like a circle, most of them clutching their sides or wiping tears from their eyes as they struggle to maintain their composure. Shunsui’s interest piques. _I wonder what happened over_ – but before he can complete the thought, one side of the circle collapses in on itself, and laughter erupts from the students once more.

 _What the…?_ Shunsui cranes his neck to get a closer look. “C’mon, man, you can _totally_ stand up,” urges one of the students in the circle, but another quickly shoots him down, saying, “Hey, give him a break – he’s never had sake before! What’d’ja expect?” Shunsui’s interest piques even more. _There’s some poor guy over there who’s never had sake before, huh?_ That’s mildly amusing, if nothing else. “Whoa – ” comes another voice from the circle, “whoa, he’s goin’ down again, catch him, _catch_ him!” and then half the circle dissolves into a jumble of blue and red and white robes and protruding arms and legs and thoroughly unsophisticated guffaws on the ground. Shunsui catches himself laughing a little, too – he recognizes one or two students in the group, and he has to admit, it’s kind of funny to see his classmates in that big, old, muddled heap.

Eventually, most of the students stagger upright, but Shunsui sees that two of them remain on the ground. One of them looks a little worse for wear – _must be the guy who’s making his first foray into the grand world of sake._ He sits with his feet stuck out in front of him, and he’s got his head tipped backwards, neck straining a little, so that he can meet the eyes of a second man who appears to be offering him words of encouragement. The first man blinks rapidly and speaks in stops and starts. His face is plain and open and easy for Shunsui to see from his spot at the table.

But the second man…

Shunsui holds his breath.

For a moment, all he can think is

_White._

The man’s face is hidden from Shunsui’s view. Chin-length hair, true white like new-fallen snow, hangs down in front of it. A few shining strands blow gently in the evening breeze, spreading out around the man’s bowed head in ghostly, ephemeral tendrils. His pale hands rest atop the first man’s shoulders as he kneels in an almost grandfatherly fashion. He nods slowly and patiently at regular intervals, responding to the first man’s incoherent babbles. Shunsui squints hard through the dim lantern-light, trying his damnedest to make out more of the white-haired man’s features – and then –

And _then –_

Spiritual pressure slams into Shunsui like a tidal wave. He nearly gasps – not out of emotion, but for breath. The white-haired man’s spiritual pressure crackles through the air, massive and almost entirely unchecked, stunning Shunsui into stock-still silence and making his sake-soaked brain go numb.  Shunsui feels something deep in his core twist and tighten – a part of him _longs_ , instantly and inexplicably, to plunge into the roiling depths of this man’s reiatsu – to let it wash over him until he just about _drowns_ in it – to let the current of surging, seething lightning that he senses beneath those uncanny waves shock his skin, and stop his heart –

There’s no doubt at all in Shunsui’s mind.

_It’s him._

This man – this gentle-looking, thin-shouldered man speaking softly to his drunken comrade – this is the other student who’s achieved shikai.

Shunsui would remember if he’d seen this man before. He’s sure of it. Even without seeing his face, he’s sure of it. “Hey,” says Shunsui to his companions at the table, not really caring that he’s interrupting their conversation, “who – who’s that guy?”

“Wha – ?” says one of his friends, following Shunsui’s gaze. “Oh, that guy? Name’s Kiyoshi. We studied swordsmanship together last term, but he wasn’t very – ”

“No, no, not _that_ guy,” says Shunsui. “ _That_ guy. The other guy.”

“Oh.” His friend rubs his chin in thought. “That dude with the white hair? Dunno exactly. Can’t say we’ve ever formally met. I think he might’a been in one of my kidō classes, though…”

“Really?” says Shunsui, only halfway paying attention. He starts to stand. He wants to meet this man. He needs to. He can’t explain it, but something in him needs to.

“Uh-huh,” his friend replies, “really. If he’s who I think he is, his reiatsu is, like… _insane_ …”

“Yeah, I can tell,” says Shunsui. Transfixed, he takes a few slow steps away from the table.

“If he’s who I think he is. See for yourself!”

“Thanks,” tosses Shunsui over his shoulder, and he makes his way forward as confidently as he can.

When he reaches his destination, Shunsui plops down cross-legged alongside the two men and presents them with the most charming smile he can muster. He looks to Kiyoshi first. “Hiya,” he says. “Kiyoshi-kun, right? How’re ya doin’, old buddy?”

Kiyoshi gapes at him, clearly not equipped to deal with such a startling turn of events. “Do I…” he finally stutters, “do I know you?”

“Sure! I’m Shunsui, remember? We – uh – ” he glances briefly back at the table where he was sitting – “we studied swordsmanship together! Last term!”

“Did we?” Kiyoshi’s eyebrows knit together as he struggles to remember.

“You bet we did! And,” Shunsui says, “I saw that you were having kind of a rough night. I just wanted to pop on over here and make sure you were doin’ okay.”

Kiyoshi’s lip trembles. “I think,” he proclaims after a long moment, “that I’m drunk.”

Shunsui is about to reply, but just then, he hears a voice, low-pitched and calm and kind, in his left ear. “Please, pardon me for interrupting,” it says, “but I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted.”

When Shunsui turns, he is met with the purest, greenest pair of eyes he has ever seen. And – _that spiritual pressure again – damn, this guy must be somethin’ amazing –_ “Hi,” manages Shunsui, hoping that he’s hiding his astonishment well. “Kyōraku Shunsui. First year.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Kyōraku-san,” the white-haired, green-eyed man says. “My name is Ukitake Jūshirō.” When Shunsui says nothing, the man – Ukitake Jūshirō – continues, “I’m – I’m a first year as well.”

“Oh.” Shunsui swallows, still pulled in, as if hypnotically, by those clear eyes and that immense spiritual pressure. _Get it together, Shunsui. You’re cleverer than “oh,” ya know._ “Good to meet you too.” _Ohh, real nice, Shunsui. Real original. Real smooth. Come on, come ON –_

“Cool name,” Shunsui blurts out. “Uh. Easy to remember. I guess your parents named you Jūshirō because’a that white hair, huh?”

That green gaze wavers for the briefest of moments. _Uh-oh. Why do I get the impression that that was the wrong thing to say?_ “No, actually,” Ukitake Jūshirō says. His voice has not grown angry, but it has grown… more subdued, perhaps? “It’s written differently,” he continues, by way of explanation, “but don’t worry – that’s a common assumption. And I understand why people often think that, of course.” And Ukitake Jūshirō offers Shunsui a small, earnest smile.

“Ah,” says Shunsui, somewhat disarmed and not exactly sure how to proceed. He turns back to Kiyoshi, who has since pressed his hands to his temples and has begun to groan quietly in the back of his throat. “This guy doesn’t look too good…”

“No,” Ukitake Jūshirō agrees. “I was hoping to pick him up and get him to a safe place, but he’s proving more resistant than I anticipated.”

Hearing Kiyoshi’s groans grow louder, Shunsui finagles one arm around the fallen student and slaps that charming grin on his face once again. “I’ll help you out, Ukitake-kun,” Shunsui declares.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to miss the party.” A glint of humor flashes in those green eyes. “You strike me as the kind of man who likes a good party, Kyōraku-san.”

“Heh!” Shunsui shrugs, as much as he can with Kiyoshi’s weight bearing down on his shoulders. “Very perceptive! You’re not wrong. But I’m kinda partied-out for the time being. Whaddya say? Accept my help, Ukitake-kun?”

Ukitake Jūshirō runs a hand through his short, white hair – _white_ , comes Shunsui’s thought again – and gives a quiet, little laugh. “All right, Kyōraku-san. I will. Thank you.”

After a minute or so of clunky maneuvering, Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō manage to drag Kiyoshi to a standing position. Kiyoshi’s left arm drapes across Ukitake Jūshirō’s shoulders, and his right arm drapes across Shunsui’s. “All set?” asks Shunsui, glancing sideways to make sure that both of his fellow students are ready to put one foot in front of the other and traipse back to the barracks.

Kiyoshi, eyes closed and head lolling, says “Mmh.”

Ukitake Jūshirō nods once. “Yes,” he says.

 

***

 

The trek isn’t long, but it isn’t exactly pleasant, either. Twice, Kiyoshi nearly topples over, but both times, between the two of them, Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō manage to help him regain his footing. _Jeez_ , thinks Shunsui as they all stumble together through the Seireitei, _this guy’s heavier than he looks. Or maybe this walk is just longer than I remembered._ Either way, Shunsui’s actually sweating a little bit by the time they finally reach the doors of the student barracks. “Phew,” he says, unravelling himself from Kiyoshi’s grip. “Made it.”

“Mmh,” says Kiyoshi.

Kiyoshi tries three times to open the door, batting at it with clumsy hands. When his fourth and fifth attempts are equally unsuccessful, Shunsui intervenes, opening the door for him. “You good, buddy?” he asks.

Kiyoshi’s eyes clear briefly as he registers the question. “I… I _think_ so,” he says. He nearly tumbles over again, but he stops himself from falling by leaning heavily on the doorframe. “Um.” He bites his lip, clearly embarrassed. “Thanks… uh, Shunsui-san? That was your name, right?”

“Yep.”

“And, uh – thanks, Jūshirō-kun,” Kiyoshi calls into the darkness, quite a bit louder than necessary. “I owe ya one.”

“Don’t mention it,” comes Ukitake Jūshirō’s voice, a little softer than Shunsui remembers it being before.

It’s only after Kiyoshi has gone and the doors have closed that Shunsui notices the surge of spiritual pressure to his left. Ukitake Jūshirō has his eyes closed and his brow furrowed, and his back is pressed up against the wall of the barracks. His arms are crossed over his chest, which expands and contracts slowly as he takes a series of very measured breaths. Shunsui considers him carefully. _I coulda sworn he was stone-cold sober, but maybe I was wrong._ “Hey,” tries Shunsui. “You okay?”

Ukitake Jūshirō’s eyes flicker open. “Oh, yes,” he says, his voice still soft. _Another surge of spiritual pressure,_ notices Shunsui. _Weird. Dude looks totally winded, but his reiatsu…_ “I just – I get a little tired, sometimes. That’s all.” A trace of that earnest smile from before crosses his features again. “You know, if you want to go back to the party, you’re more than welcome – ”

“No, no. That’s all right,” says Shunsui, lounging up against the wall a foot or two away from the other man. “I’ll hang out here until you get your zip back.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Ukitake Jūshirō says, “but it’s really not necessary. And… well, to be frank, it might take a while.”

“Eh.” Shunsui scratches his scruffy head. “That’s fine by me, actually. Like I said before, I’m kinda partied-out. I’d be happy to stay here. For real.”

“Mm,” is all Ukitake Jūshirō says in reply – but the sound is so faint that Shunsui has to ask himself whether he heard anything at all. Those green eyes are closed again. _Man. Who is this guy?_ Shunsui can’t help but wonder, and he can’t help but stare a little, too. Ukitake Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure is, just as Shunsui’s table mate had said, insane. Shunsui feels it pulsing, enormous and, it seems, just barely in control – _and no wonder,_ Shunsui thinks, _with that kind of crazy size and power._ It’s easily the strongest spiritual pressure Shunsui has ever encountered in a student. But…

 _But look at him,_ thinks Shunsui. _He sure doesn’t LOOK like a guy with spiritual pressure like that._ In fact, Shunsui decides, he looks more like a guy who might fall over if a strong breeze came along at the wrong moment. He’s tall enough, but, despite the distinct cords of muscle that Shunsui can pick out on the man’s neck and upper torso, it’s clear that he’s a pretty skinny fellow overall. Dark circles hang beneath his tight-shut eyes. His face looks young, but Shunsui reads upon it the beginnings of both laugh lines and worry lines in very equal measure.

 _He’s.._. Shunsui almost laughs aloud at his next thought. Maybe it’s the sake talking, but...  _H_ _e’s… he's kinda handsome. Isn’t he?_

“Is something the matter?” Ukitake Jūshirō, eyes open again now, cocks his head to the side, a slightly concerned expression coming over his face. “I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be intrusive, but your – your spiritual pressure just now, it – ”

“What? Oh - yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” Somehow, in that dim light, Shunsui’s eyes lock onto Ukitake Jūshirō’s again. “How… uh, how about you, Ukitake-kun? Not gonna lie, man, you – uh – you seemed pretty out of it for a minute or two.”

“Ah…” Ukitake Jūshirō hesitates. “I think… I think it might be best if I retired for the evening.” He starts to stand up straight, but as he does, he sways ever so slightly on his feet. He keeps one hand on the wall, steadying himself. The other, he presses to his chest.

Shunsui watches him warily. “Which barracks do you live in?”

“It’s not far from here. Just a few blocks north.”

“Great,” Shunsui says. “Perfect. C’mon, Ukitake-kun. I’ll walk you home.”

“Are you sure? You’ve already missed a lot of the party – don’t you want to – ”

“I already told ya, I don’t have any interest in going back there tonight. And what’s more,” he adds pointedly, “you look like you could use a little help walking straight. Am I right?”

Shunsui sees a spark in those green eyes that make him think Ukitake Jūshirō might protest further – but in the end, he only says, “All right, Kyōraku-san. And… thank you.”

 

***

 

The first block is easy. All things considered, so is the second. Ukitake Jūshirō leans heavily on Shunsui as they walk. When they reach the third block, Shunsui feels his companion’s steps slow, and slow, and _slow_ , and then, after a moment, stop altogether. Ukitake Jūshirō breathes through gritted teeth, and his head hangs straight down – just as it was back in the garden, Shunsui cannot see his face through that white hair.

“Hey,” says Shunsui. “You got this. You’re almost home, okay?”

Ukitake Jūshirō says nothing.

“Look, man, I feel ya. I’ve been there. That last cup of sake can creep up on you mighty quick – ”

“I’m… not... drunk…” says Ukitake Jūshirō, raising his head slowly.

“Of _course_ you’re not, pal. You’re just – ”

“Kyōraku-san. I’m _not_.”

Shunsui turns to face him. Ukitake Jūshirō’s countenance is set, determined, willful. _Whoa. I think… I think he might be telling the truth._ “All right,” Shunsui says slowly. “I believe you. But then, I have to ask… what, uh, exactly do you – ”

Ukitake Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure surges again. “Let’s keep going,” he says. “Like you said – I’m almost home.” When Shunsui only stares in response, he adds, “…please?”

“Okay,” says Shunsui. “Right. Okay.”

It happens two blocks after that. One moment, Ukitake Jūshirō and Shunsui are walking, step by deliberate step, through the streets, and the next, Shunsui feels his arm pulled downwards, yanked abruptly by a considerable weight. Shunsui’s head whips around. Just like that, Ukitake Jūshirō's knees hit the ground. His limbs tremble. His thin frame shakes. His sides heave and shudder in a strange, sickening, disjointed rhythm. He lurches - he pitches sideways - he's gasping on the ground now - and Shunsui can only stand and watch, paralyzed. _He can't breathe,_ realizes Shunsui, alarmed.  _He – he – dear gods, he can’t breathe!_ _Gods – dear, sweet gods, what – what’s happening?_ Unthinking, Shunsui drops to his knees. _What can I do?_ he asks himself desperately. _Can I do anything?_ At a loss, Shunsui seizes Ukitake Jūshirō’s hands, believing, ridiculously, that the contact might help somehow –

And then, Ukitake Jūshirō is still.

He gives a small cough, and he sighs, the tension gone from his body. His breaths are short, fast, jagged little things. His eyelids flutter, and then open. He glances at Shunsui, then at the ground, and then at his hands, to which Shunsui still clings with all his might. “Oh, dear,” Ukitake Jūshirō whispers, registering what has happened.

Shunsui stares intently into Ukitake Jūshirō’s face – he could swear that the man is _blushing_ , of all things. “What the – what _the_ – ” splutters Shunsui, “ _dude._ Are – are you okay?” _Well, THAT’s a stupid question, Shunsui. CLEARLY he’s not –_ “You – _jeez_ , you – you scared me, man. What _was_ that?”

“It’s nothing,” comes Ukitake Jūshirō’s quiet reply.

“It sure as hell didn't _look_ like nothing,” Shunsui says. “Y'know, I’m sure it’s none of my business, but explain something to me, will ya? How do you get away with having such crazy spiritual pressure, and then pulling a stunt like that – huh? ’Cause, by the way, I _know_ you have crazy spiritual pressure. It’s obvious.”

“It’s _nothing_ ,” repeats Ukitake Jūshirō. “You shouldn’t worry about it, Kyōraku-san.”

“Oh, yeah?” says Shunsui. “Well, I _am_ worried about it, whether you like it or not.”

But Ukitake Jūshirō shakes his head. “ _Don't_ be,” he insists. He breaks contact with Shunsui’s hands and, with an effort, pushes himself into a seated position. “You… Kyōraku-san, I apologize,” he says, green eyes cast downwards. “I… this… this wasn’t supposed to happen tonight – ”

“Is it ever?” Shunsui cuts in.

“That - that's not what I meant,” Ukitake Jūshirō says quickly. “I meant - that you – you didn’t need to see this – ”

“And what is ‘this,’ exactly, Ukitake-kun?"

"It's - it's  _nothing,_ I said -"

"What? Does this kinda shit happen to you all the time or something?”

Ukitake Jūshirō’s blush deepens. “No,” he says, in a very small voice.

 _Liar,_ thinks Shunsui. But he has nothing tactful to say out loud, so he keeps his mouth shut.

After a moment, Ukitake Jūshirō says, “I think you should go.” Shunsui gapes at him. “You’ve done more than enough, Kyōraku-san,” he continues. “You certainly don’t need to – ”

“No freakin’ _way_ ,” Shunsui says flatly. “No. No _way_ am I gonna just leave you in the middle of the street.”

“Kyōraku-san,” Ukitake Jūshirō tries again, “listen. I appreciate your willingness to stay here, but I simply can’t ask you to – ”

“Then don’t _ask_.” Now it’s Ukitake Jūshirō who gapes. “You don’t need to _ask._ I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re home safe, okay? What kind of person would I be if I just walked away, huh?”

“I – Kyōraku-san, you've only just met me. You don’t need to – ”

“Yes. I do.” And as Shunsui stares, determined, into that earnest face framed by locks of pure white hair, he realizes just how true it is. _I… I don’t think I could leave this man right now if I tried._

Ukitake Jūshirō stares back. “All right,” he finally concedes, his voice low. “…thank you. Again. Kyōraku-san.”

A few silent minutes pass. Shunsui wants to say something to Ukitake Jūshirō, to this oddly magnetic man he’s just met – but what? Words of reassurance don’t seem appropriate, somehow; Shunsui is fairly certain that he’s more shaken up by this incident than Ukitake Jūshirō is. So… _what_ , then? Unsure, Shunsui casts a slow glance around the darkened street. He takes in the muted colors of the Seireitei at night – _blue,_ he thinks, _lots of blue._ Even Ukitake Jūshirō’s white hair shines vaguely blue in the glow of the moonlight. _White_ , Shunsui thinks again, the word and the color splashing unbidden across his mind. _White..._

And then, Shunsui has an idea.

“Ukitake-kun,” he says. “Mind if I ask you something?”

Ukitake Jūshirō blinks - it’s as if he’s been caught off-guard by the question. Even so, he manages to say “Of course not,” with another small, gentle smile.

“Your name,” Shunsui says. “You said - you said earlier that it was written kinda funny, didn’t you?”

Ukitake Jūshirō blinks again. “...did I?” he asks.

“Well. You mighta put it a little differently, but you said something like that, anyway.” Seeing the blank look on Ukitake Jūshirō’s face, Shunsui adds, “Your given name, I mean. Y’know - _Jūshirō_.”

Instantly, Shunsui feels Ukitake Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure spike. “O-oh…” Ukitake Jūshirō says quietly. “Yes, I… I suppose I did…”

“So, uh - I just wanted to ask - if your name is written kinda funny - ”

“...yes?”

“Well. Uh. How d’you write it?”

Ukitake Jūshirō hesitates. “I’ll…” he starts, and Shunsui could swear he sees the blush in those pale cheeks deepen even further. “I’ll show you, Kyōraku-san,” he finally says. “Are – are you right- or left-handed?”

 _What an unexpected question._ “…uh. Ambidextrous, actually.”

And the next thing Shunsui knows, Ukitake Jūshirō has taken Shunsui’s right hand in his own, his long fingers wrapping delicately around Shunsui’s wrist.

“Here,” says Ukitake Jūshirō softly, guiding Shunsui’s hand through the air. “I… I didn’t mean to be rude before. When you asked about my name. Of course, you’d think that my parents named me ‘Jūshirō’ because of my…” he trails off. “Well. _This_ ,” he says, “is the character for the _shirō_ you’re thinking of.” He moves their hands together, and Shunsui lets Ukitake Jūshirō lead him through the familiar strokes. He already knows how to write this _shirō_ , of course – this _shirō_ , which means _white -_ but it does not occur to him, not even for a second, to stop the movement. “Now, here... here’s my _jū…_ ” Ukitake Jūshirō continues, “and  _this_... this is my _shirō._ It’s two characters, actually,” he adds.

Shunsui does not know what to do when the moment ends. Ukitake Jūshirō still gently holds his wrist. _Is this… am I… what’s happening here, exactly?_ Shunsui can only suck in the cool night air and hope that it settles him somewhat – he’s sure that Ukitake Jūshirō must sense that something’s amiss, whether from the heat of Shunsui’s skin or from the suddenly erratic behavior of Shunsui’s reiatsu. His head swims; his heart pounds. Finally, after what feels like a very long time, Shunsui does the only thing he can think of. “My turn now,” he mumbles, praying he doesn’t seem awkward, and he wraps his fingers around Ukitake Jūshirō’s wrist instead.

He moves Ukitake Jūshirō’s hand through the motions of five characters. After the second, he hears Ukitake Jūshirō laugh, and really, he’s not surprised – it’s pretty obvious what the word is going to be. Even so, Ukitake Jūshirō politely waits until the word is finished to say, “ _Arigatō.”_ He laughs again. “You’re welcome, Kyōraku-san,” he says.

And then, Shunsui has another idea.

“Call me Shunsui,” he says.

Ukitake Jūshirō’s dark brow furrows in confusion. “Call - call you - ?”

“ _Shunsui_ ,” says Shunsui. “Yeah, man. You – you can use my given name, if you want to.” Before Ukitake Jūshirō can respond, Shunsui continues, piecing his thoughts together as he speaks. “The Academy can be so stuffy sometimes, don’t’cha think? We’re both students, after all – both of the same rank. There’s no need for honorifics in a casual setting like this. Um. In – in my opinion.”

“Are you – are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” Shunsui says. “I’ve never really been one for formality. Go on, give it a shot.”

Ukitake Jūshirō pauses for the briefest of instants. Then – “All right… Shunsui.”

Inexplicably, something inside Shunsui melts just a little bit.

“Ah. Well, then,” Ukitake Jūshirō continues, “I… suppose that means that you can call me Jūshirō, too. If – if you’d like.”

Shunsui feels a smile come over his face. “Jūshirō,” he says.

Another minute or two passes in silence, but this time, the silence is comfortable, easy.  Shunsui looks sidelong at Ukitake Jūshirō - _no_ , he corrects, _it’s just Jūshirō now, isn’t it?_ \- watching that smile play about his kindly features. “You feeling better, man?” he asks, as gently as he can.

“Mm,” says Jūshirō, his smile fading slightly. “Yes. Yes, a bit.” He glances at Shunsui. “Well enough to walk home, I think. If that’s what you were asking.” He averts his eyes briefly. “If… that is. If you’re still willing to walk with me. I… I think I’ll need the help.”

 _That was hard for him to say_ , Shunsui realizes. _Oh, gods. He’s embarrassed, isn’t he?_ “Hey,” he says. When Jūshirō’s eyes stay downwards, he says again, “ _Hey._ ” Jūshirō looks up. “Of course I’ll help you, Jūshirō. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m sure you feel like it’s an imposition or whatever, but – I’ve gotcha, okay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Shunsui says again. “I’ve gotcha - I promise. C’mon, Jūshirō.” In one swift motion, he hoists Jūshirō into a standing position. Jūshirō tips forward, both arms flung around Shunsui’s neck, and he lets out a weak, little groan as his head sinks to rest on Shunsui’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, man,” Shunsui reassures him. “You said it’s not far, right?”

“Right,” manages Jūshirō.

“Right. Like I said, I’ve gotcha. One step at a time, okay?” Jūshirō nods, and fixes his eyes straight ahead. His spiritual pressure surges once more. He says nothing – saving his strength for the walk, Shunsui has no doubt. “Okay, Jūshirō. Let’s do this thing. In three… two…”

 

***

 

Finally, finally, they arrive. When they do, Jūshirō lets his hand slide from Shunsui’s shoulder, and he staggers the few steps to the door.

Then, he turns. “Shunsui,” he says.

“…yes?”

“You’re… you’ve been…” he stops.

“It’s nothing, man. Really.”

“No, it isn’t. I mean it, Shunsui. You’re – truly – ” and he stops again. “I think… I think that any man who counts you among his friends is very, _very_ lucky to do so.”

 _Wow. That’s a first._ “I dunno,” Shunsui says, running a self-conscious hand through his hair. “You don’t know me, man – ”

“I – I think I’d _like_ to.”

“ – ’cuz, I promise, I’m much more disappointing once you get to know me – wait, what?”

“I. Ah. I’d like to. Get to know you, Shunsui.”

“I… uh…” Shunsui's jaw drops just a little. _He wants to get to know me? Me?!_ "Uh. Sorry, man, but - what the hell?"

“Listen,” says Jūshirō. “You – ah. You haven’t exactly seen me at my best tonight, so – I - well. I wouldn’t mind a second chance to make a first impression.”

“You’ve made a fine first impression,” Shunsui stammers.

“No. It’s kind of you to pretend, but no. I haven’t.”

“You’ve been just freakin’ _fine_ ,” says Shunsui. “And – well – you didn’t have to do a damn thing. I wanted to get to know you the second I saw you back in the garden.”

Jūshirō’s green eyes grow wide. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Shunsui says. “Really.” He stops for a moment, watching Jūshirō carefully. “I mean, at first,” he continues, “it was your spiritual pressure.”

“...really?”

“Yeah. Not to be the absolute worst, but I - I kinda figured any guy with spiritual pressure like yours was worth knowing -”

“No, no - that’s okay – I was going to say the same about you.”

Shunsui raises an eyebrow. “…you were?”

Jūshirō nods. “Your spiritual pressure is incredible, Shunsui.”

Shunsui shakes his head. “Nice try,” he says. “But yours knocks mine outta the park, no question.”

“I don’t think so,” Jūshirō says, and Shunsui sees that he’s serious.

“Huh.”

“Huh,” Jūshirō repeats. His lips stay parted; he looks for a moment like he’s going to say something. Shunsui has a vague suspicion about what it might be - in fact, he suspects it’s a variation on the question that’s almost hanging on his own tongue. He’s been putting off asking it all night - or, ever since he first saw Jūshirō back in the garden, anyway - and he’s been telling himself that it’s because he already knows the answer - that he sure as heck hasn’t been putting it off because he’s _nervous_ or anything -

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Jūshirō says.

Shunsui starts. “Huh?”

“It’s you,” Jūshirō repeats. “Isn’t it? You have shikai, don’t you?”

“I…”

Jūshirō proved him right, at least. Shunsui had indeed wanted to ask Jūshirō that same question. Ever since yesterday, when he, terrified, had heard that wily, feminine whisper in his ear, and had felt a massive, dark power well up from within his soul and spiral outwards into two massive, dark swords - ever since then, Shunsui had longed to look into the eyes of the other student who’d achieved shikai, no matter who he was, and say - _you. Surely, you understand. Surely, you understand my pain... surely, you understand my fear..._

Shunsui had expected sympathy, had expected a fellow overwhelmed and unwilling companion, with whom he could hang his head and lament his burden. Shunsui had _not_ expected this. Shunsui had _not_ expected Ukitake Jūshirō. _What,_ Shunsui thinks hazily, _could a man like him know about a power like mine?_ Nothing, Shunsui believes. Ukitake Jūshirō’s eyes are too bright for that. Ukitake Jūshirō’s smile is too quick for that. Ukitake Jūshirō’s reiatsu is too pure for that, too grand and clean and free, and too full of _life_ ... and maybe it’s only Shunsui’s imagination, but when he brushes the edges of Ukitake Jūshirō’s extraordinary reiatsu with his own, he swears that he can hear distant laughter… beautiful, _beautiful_ laughter, _innocent_ laughter _…_ open, unchecked laughter, like the laughter of children… like the laughter children, playing _games_...

“...Shunsui?”

“Huh?” Shunsui says again, as Jūshirō’s soft voice snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Are… are you all right?”

Shunsui nods, once, twice, a little more vigorously than he needs to. “Fine,” he says, “fine... and, uh... yeah. Yeah. It’s me. It’s - it’s me. I’ve got shikai.”

“I _knew_ it!” Jūshirō exclaims - but then he cringes, and grasps at the doorframe with one white-knuckled hand. After a tense moment, he sighs, and releases the hand, and chuckles, quietly. “Sorry,” he says, peering sheepishly upwards through his dark eyelashes. 

Shunsui, for his part, is too dazed to think of anything brilliant to say. “So,” he ventures dumbly. “Uh. We both have shikai, huh?”

Jūshirō grins. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, we do!”

“...so. Uh. What now?”

“Well, I… I’ve got an idea, actually...”

“Uh-huh?”

“Um - yes! Because I - well. I really would like a chance to make a better first impression, no matter what you might say - and - and I do want to get to know you better, too. And,” he adds, “you, for some convoluted reason, seem to think my spiritual pressure is more impressive than yours…”

“Uh. Yeah?” Shunsui swallows. He’s pretty sure he can see where this is going, but he’s not sure how he feels about it. “What’cha thinkin’, Jūshirō?”

“Well. Suppose… suppose we trained together sometime?”

Shunsui bites his lip, very, very uncertain. “Jūshirō,” he says, “I think it’s a swell idea – in theory. But – you’re asking about training together using shikai, right?” Jūshirō nods. “Look, man. I…” _You what, Shunsui? Are you about to tell him about your freaky shikai? Really?_

Jūshirō’s face falls. “I see,” he says. “It’s all right, Shunsui – I understand. I just – ” He closes those green eyes for a moment. “I thought I’d ask. I – thought you might be different.” He turns away, and moves to open the door. “Thanks again,” he says over his shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, Shunsui.”

“Wait – Jūshirō!” Shunsui rushes forward and lays a hand on his shoulder. Jūshirō reels, almost falls – Shunsui catches him, supporting him from behind with his strong arms. Shunsui feels Jūshirō trembling slightly against him. “Jūshirō,” he says, quietly. “No, I - jeez, sorry, I - I didn't mean it like that. It - it kinda doesn't have anything to do with you, actually."

Jūshirō looks up at him, the question written clearly upon his face. “It doesn't?” He seems shocked. “Then… then what?”

“It’s – my shikai.”

“Your shikai?”

“Yeah. It’s – it’s – I mean, I dunno too much about how to use it yet, but – it's  _weird_ , man. I wasn’t kidding when I said that getting to know me wasn’t a whole lot of fun.”

“Oh.” Jūshirō keeps his eyes trained on Shunsui’s. They soften, and Jūshirō smiles. “Well, that’s all right,” he says. “A – um – _weird_ shikai will probably help me train better than a conventional one, anyway.”

“You say that now,” Shunsui says. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“Well, then.” Jūshirō inhales sharply and stands on his own, turning once again to face Shunsui. “I’ll just have to find out. Won’t I?”

Shunsui swallows. “You sure?”

Jūshirō’s smile grows. “As you might say, ‘sure, I’m sure,’” he says. “And, I must confess, Kyōraku Shunsui, that I am also more than a little bit intrigued. So – sometime next week, perhaps?”

“Uh -all right.”

“Good. I’ll – I’ll send you a message soon.”

“I – I'm lookin' forward to it.”

“As am I.”

They stand for a long moment in the darkness, facing each other, neither of them speaking. Then, Jūshirō opens the door and, after a final glance over his shoulder, he disappears into the barracks. The last thing Shunsui sees before he vanishes entirely is that flash of white hair.

The barracks in which Shunsui lives are nearby, but it takes him a long time to meander his way home. The blue Seireitei provides an appropriate and echoing stage for his wandering footsteps and wandering thoughts. He flexes the fingers of his right hand over and over and over, and he, surprising himself, fancies that he can still feel Jūshirō’s hand wrapped tenderly around his wrist.

 _What a strange man_ , thinks Shunsui, gazing upwards now. He raises his right hand to the sky and stares at it. It is silhouetted against the moon, which glows bright white now, instead of its former orange.

 _White_.

 _Jūshirō_ …

Still looking at the sky, Shunsui wraps his left hand around his right wrist and begins to guide his own right hand through the air. _‘Jū…’_ he thinks, _like the number ten… and ‘shi,’ the first part of his ‘shirō...’ ‘shi,’ like the number four... then, the ‘rō…’_ He smirks. _Same ‘rō’ that’s in my own long-ass name, isn’t it?_ he thinks, moving his hand - much more clumsily than Jūshirō did, he can’t help but think - through the strokes.

When Shunsui finishes writing the name, he drops his arms, and lets his hands hang at his sides.

He frowns.

He squints up at the moon - at that white, _white_ moon.

Slowly, slowly - ever so slowly - Shunsui flexes the fingers of his left hand. He brings his left hand up to the sky, and slowly, slowly - ever so slowly - begins, once again, to write Jūshirō’s name in the air. He makes the ‘ _jū’_ \- _just like the number ten - one stroke down, one stroke sideways -_

And then, Shunsui’s frown changes slowly, slowly - ever so slowly - into something almost like a smile.

This time, when Shunsui writes Jūshirō’s name, he writes it the way he sees it in his mind’s eye. He makes Jūshirō’s  _shirō_ one character, instead of two. He makes it the _shirō_ that it should be - the _shirō_ that matches Jūshirō’s shining hair, and his pale skin - and, if Shunsui’s initial read of the man is anything to go by, his good, kind heart, too -

Shunsui smiles in earnest now.

This time, he writes the _shirō_ that means _white_.

When Shunsui finally lays down to sleep that night, feet a little bit tired and mind reeling, he is still thinking of Jūshirō. _Will Jūshirō be a friend to me?_ Shunsui can only wonder. _I hope he still wants to be my friend after he sees my shikai_ , is Shunsui’s last dim thought before he slips into sleep.

And that night, Shunsui dreams.

Yes, splashes of violet taunt his dreams. And yes, splashes of crimson stain them. But that night, for once, Shunsui ignores all of the colors swirling in his head – all, that is, save for flecks of playful, intelligent green which seem to linger on the periphery of his slumber.

In his fitful sleep, Shunsui smiles.

Because that night, his dreams are

 _white_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and there we have it, friends! The first newly updated, newly edited chapter of this fic! (More to come soon!)
> 
> Ever so quickly - so as to allay any confusion - Shunsui's full name is actually 'Kyōraku no Jirō Sōzōsuke Shunsui' (I know, right?), and the 'rō' in 'Jirō' is, in fact, the same 'rō' as the one in 'Jūshirō.' If you've read the first-draft version of this fic, then you'll know that I very much neglected that little tidbit of trivia before - I simply didn't know as much about these two boys as I should have before I began writing this fic, I suppose. Oh, well - I think I've rectified that now. (And, actually, I kinda like this sequence of events a little better. So, it all works out, I think!)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, everyone! And, as always - thanks for reading :)


	2. Interlude: Golden

The morning light streams through the barracks window, golden and gentle. Ukitake Jūshirō feels the warmth on his face. He savors it, a tiny smile tugging at his lips, before opening his eyes. Blearily, Jūshirō weighs his options. He has two, the way he sees it – he could kick off his blankets and wake up like the responsible, hardworking student he strives to be, or he could bask for a few glorious moments more in the sleepy sunlight.

 _Ah, what’s a couple minutes?_ Jūshirō reasons. He rolls onto his side and buries his face a little deeper into his pillow. He feels good this morning. He feels _amazing_ , actually. He feels comfortable, happy, and strong – all at the same time. _And that never happens,_ he thinks to himself. _Well. “Never” is too hard a word, I suppose. Still, it doesn’t happen as often as I’d like._

As Jūshirō lays snug beneath the covers, his thoughts stray to the night before. _I met the second student who’s achieved shikai,_ he muses. _Kyōraku Shunsui… dear me, but he was a bizarre fellow, wasn’t he?_ Bizarre for several reasons, too. To start, of course, there was his spiritual pressure to consider. Jūshirō had known from the second he and Shunsui had locked eyes in the garden that this breezy student with his lackadaisical airs was more, _much_ more, than he made himself out to be. The way his spiritual pressure pitched and swelled and twisted and meandered had seemed random and disorganized at first, but as the night wore on, Jūshirō began to recognize Shunsui’s spiritual pressure for what it was – a series of extraordinarily intricate patterns, each of which Shunsui seemed to piece together unconsciously and with ease. _That_ , Jūshirō remembers thinking, awe-struck, as he and Shunsui sat together in the middle of the darkened Seireitei, _is power._

Spiritual pressure aside, though, the man was still quite odd. _Distracted_ , Jūshirō decides, _he seemed… distracted by something. A bit caught up in his head._ But Jūshirō can hardly fault him for that. _He was kind to me. Very kind. Kinder than he needed to be._ Shunsui had refused to leave Jūshirō, hadn’t even once considered returning to the party – and Jūshirō must have told Shunsui to do so at least three times, if not more. In fairness, much of that had been selfishness on Jūshirō’s part. _If Shunsui had left me earlier, he wouldn’t have seen… wouldn’t have seen me like… like that._ Which isn’t to say that Jūshirō isn’t grateful; he is, and incredibly so. A small part of Jūshirō knows that he likely wouldn’t have made it home without Shunsui’s assistance.

But that only makes it worse.

Jūshirō sighs heavily, sits up, and pushes away his blankets. The air in the room is cooler than he realized, and he hugs himself, suddenly chilled.

_I actually thought I might be able to make a friend who wouldn’t see me as a burden. Silly, really._

_But then…_

Jūshirō frowns, thinking back to his and Shunsui’s parting words. After Jūshirō had suggested they train together, Shunsui hadn’t said a single thing about Jūshirō’s health. _No_ , realizes Jūshirō, _no, that was me, wasn’t it? I’m the one who jumped to that conclusion, aren’t I?_ The only worry that Shunsui had expressed had been about his shikai.

And more importantly, Shunsui had said yes. Shunsui had actually agreed to train with him.

That’s never happened to Jūshirō before.

But a small voice in the back of Jūshirō’s head still pesters him. _You’re going to have another fit in front of him if you make him a friend, you know_ , it says. _He may not see you as a burden now, but if you make him a friend, he soon will._

“No,” Jūshirō says aloud. A burst of energy fills him, and he stands and stretches tall. “That kind of thinking will get you nowhere, Jūshirō. You know that. And besides,” he concludes, lowering his arms and crossing to the teapot that sits in the corner of the room, “there’s no way to know for sure, now, is there?”

After Jūshirō finishes preparing his tea, he sits cross-legged in front of the window, cradling the warm cup in his cold hands. “No,” he says again, more quietly this time, “there’s no way to know for sure.” Shunsui, Jūshirō feels certain, is different from the others. Jūshirō can’t say precisely how, or why, but he feels certain nonetheless. _I collapsed in the street, and in response, he –_ and Jūshirō can’t help but laugh, because it’s so terribly absurd. _He asked about my name, of all things! That’s all he did!_ Shunsui had seemed worried at first, of course. That, as far as Jūshirō is concerned, had only been natural. But after it became clear that Jūshirō was in no imminent danger, Shunsui had let the whole matter drop. He’d asked his questions, and after accepting Jūshirō’s answers, vague though they were, he’d simply begun to talk about names. As though nothing had happened. As though he truly didn’t mind that Jūshirō was the sort of person who regularly struggled to keep his own body standing upright. As though chatting late at night while seated upon the cobblestones of the Seireitei was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Jūshirō feels another small smile cross his face as he sips at his tea. _Shunsui let me show him how to write my “shirō,” too. That was very good of him._

When the tea is gone, Jūshirō rises and moves to open the window. A faint breeze sweeps into the room, blowing Jūshirō’s white hair away from his face. He scans the courtyard of the student barracks with his keen, green eyes, unsurprised to find it empty at this time of morning, save for the few small creatures – birds, squirrels, a few rabbits – that call it home. Before long, Jūshirō finds what he’s looking for. He extends one thin forefinger, and he waits. The butterfly flits towards Jūshirō and perches atop his finger, black wings gleaming and resplendent in the sunlight. Its miniscule legs tickle Jūshirō’s skin. Gently, Jūshirō brings his finger towards his lips. “For…” he says, and he feels his smile grow, “for Kyōraku Shunsui.” Jūshirō whispers his message to the butterfly, and begins to let it go – but then stops, an idea striking him. “Oh – ” he calls to the butterfly, which hovers just outside his window, “sorry! Just -  just one more word, please.” And he whispers that to the butterfly, too.

Jūshirō closes the window and leans against the wall, slightly unsure of how to cope with this unexpectedly euphoric daze in which he finds himself. Classes won’t resume until the following day, and in honor of yesterday’s celebration, none of the teachers have given the first-year students any assignments. How strange it is, Jūshirō reflects, to have nothing to do. Eventually, he picks a well-worn collection of fairy tales from his bookshelf, tucks it under his arm, and takes it to his favorite shady spot next to the koi pond in the courtyard to read.

Jūshirō knows the stories well, and they’ve proved a source of both amusement and leisure in the past. But today, Jūshirō cannot focus. He finds himself reading the same sentence over and over and making no sense whatsoever of the words. He can’t keep his mind from wandering. In the end, he closes the book, flips over to lay on his stomach, and gazes mindlessly into the depths of the koi pond, watching the brightly colored little fish dart around with a fierce and admirable agility.

_Kind of like Shunsui’s reiatsu…_

The thought springs unbidden to Jūshirō’s mind. That silly smile slaps itself onto his pale face once more, and Jūshirō laughs and laughs and laughs, quietly as he can manage, to himself. He’s not sure why, but he can’t help it. And who is he to complain? He feels better today than he has in a long, long time.

Jūshirō stays there for the rest of the morning, mesmerized by the fish and grinning like a fool.

And all the while, he thinks of Shunsui.

 

***

 

When Shunsui wakes up, there’s a butterfly on his face.

“Blargh – _argh!_ ” he splutters, swiping at the damn thing with floppy, graceless hands until it flits a foot or so away from him and hovers (a little standoffishly in Shunsui’s opinion) at the end of his sleeping mat. “Jeez,” groans Shunsui, “you couldn’t warn a guy before you do that, could ya?”

The butterfly only bats its wings in reply.

Shunsui, dead-eyed, does his best to stare it down. “I didn’t think so,” he grumbles. “All right, pal. Whaddya got for me?”

The butterfly floats a bit closer. Shunsui turns one of his ears in its general direction. At first, he only hears a faint crackling, and he wonders if it’s a mistake – _That stupid butterfly better not have woken me up for no reason,_ Shunsui thinks – but then he hears a voice. It’s a voice which, by rights, shouldn’t be very familiar to him, but Shunsui recognizes it instantly.

Just as he did in his white-tinted sleep, Shunsui smiles.

 _“Um,”_ the voice begins. _“H-hi! Good morning! If it’s still morning by the time you get this, that is. If not, um – good – afternoon? Or – evening? It probably won’t be evening, I suppose, but – well. Anyway. Um. Hi! Hi, Shunsui!”_

Shunsui leans forward and rests his bristly chin on top of his hands. It feels surprisingly good to hear his name said like that. Even if it is coming from that lousy butterfly.

 _“I hope you don’t mind my being a little serious first,”_ continues the voice. _“I know I thanked you last night for staying with me, and for making sure I got home all right, but – I’m afraid that no words will ever be able to express what a kind thing to do that was. I – um - I'm fine now, by the way - but I - um."_  A pause, then. _"_ _I… I think that... even if I still know you a hundred years from now, I... I’ll still be grateful for last night. I – I really will. I'm sure that, right now, you’re probably shaking your head and saying to yourself that I’m exaggerating – ”_

 _– Uncanny_ , thinks Shunsui, who stops shaking his head immediately –

_“– but – um. I mean it. You didn’t have to do that Shunsui, not any of it. But you did anyway. So – so, thanks.”_

A slight pause. Shunsui watches the butterfly hover in front of him; he finds it considerably less annoying now, somehow.

_“But. Um. All – all of that aside, I really wanted to ask when you might be free to train. I-if you still want to, of course. I have time on Tuesday afternoons, if – uh – if that works for you. And – and if not, then Wednesday mornings are also good. And if not, then – um – let me know, I suppose, and, ah - and we can sort something else out. Because I do very much want to see this – um – ”_

– Shunsui could swear he hears Jūshirō give a small chuckle –

 _“– this weird shikai of yours.”_ A slight pause again. _“Also, your spiritual pressure is totally stronger than mine. Guarantee. So – so there.”_

“Heh. Doubt it,” Shunsui murmurs, half to himself. “Only one way to find out, green-eyed boy.”

_“Anyway. Sorry this got so long. I hope you have a really lovely day, Shunsui. And I hope to hear from you soon!”_

Shunsui figures that must be the end, and he’s about to beckon the butterfly closer – but then the voice starts up again. _“Oh, sorry!”_ it says. It sounds a little far away. _“Just -  just one more word, please.”_

Shunsui purses his lips. _I wonder…_

_“Arigatō!”_

And with that, Shunsui knows the message is over. He leans back on his sleeping mat, thinking through his schedule. _Tuesday,_ he muses, _Tuesday, Tuesday… what the heck do I have goin’ on on Tuesday?_ He scowls. He probably has it written down somewhere, and strictly speaking, he could get up and check…

 _But that would require work on my part, wouldn’t it?_ Shunsui sits up again, decision made. Anything else he might have planned for Tuesday afternoon can wait.

Shunsui gives the butterfly a coy come-hither finger, and it flits towards him, poised at the ready. “Hey, pal,” he says. “Sorry I was such a dick before. I’m not really a morning person.”

Just like before, the butterfly only bats its wings. Shunsui chooses to interpret this as a sign of forgiveness. “Wanna do me a solid and send a message back? This one’s for Ukitake Jūshirō. The guy you came from. Okay?”

Unsurprisingly, the butterfly’s wings just keep on batting away. “Okay,” says Shunsui. “I’m – I’m just gonna assume you’re ready for me, little buddy. Here goes.” He feels strangely nervous. _It’s just a message, Shunsui. Jeez. How bad could it be?_

Shunsui takes a deep breath.

“Uh.”

_Great start, Shunsui. Come ON, man! You got this! Just - try again._

“Uh. H-hey there, Jūshirō! Uh. First – uh – first thing’s first, I guess! Tuesday afternoon sounds just fine to me…”


	3. Grey and Green

Tuesday dawns, hot and bright and beautiful. Shunsui fidgets impatiently all through the morning’s tactics lesson. He’s never exactly enjoyed tactics class, a dry, old subject taught by a dry, old Shinigami with a voice that grates like dry, old sandpaper, but today, sitting in the stuffy classroom isn’t just boring – it’s straight-up torture.

To keep himself from jumping out of his skin as the instructor drones on and on, Shunsui crafts a little exercise. _I think he’s going to end the lecture after… this sentence_ , Shunsui decides.

He’s not really surprised when he’s wrong.

 _Okay… this sentence,_ he thinks, about thirty seconds later.

He’s not really surprised when he’s wrong again.

_Fine. THIS sentence. It’s gotta be this sentence, right?_

But – he’s wrong again.

It goes on like that for a while.

All told, Shunsui expresses variations on that same sentiment to himself about five thousand times. So, it is with extraordinary relief and absolute elation that Shunsui finally – _Finally! Jeez!_ – leaps up from his seat after the dusty instructor closes his books and announces that he’s concluded the lecture. _I’m free!_ Shunsui thinks, bursting through the heavy double doors and into the bright sunlight. He squints upwards, and figures it must be about noon. _Good. I have a little time._

One of his classmates calls to him. “Yo, Shunsui – we’re gonna take a stroll and grab some lunch! Wanna come?”

“Huh?” Shunsui glances over his shoulder, then squints upwards again. “Uh – nah, I’m all right. I have a – a sort of meeting in a little bit.”

“What time?” his classmate asks.

“Uh. Two.”

“Two? We’ll be done with lunch by two, ya idiot – ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know – I just – I gotta get ready first.”

“Shunsui? Making preparations?” another student interjects. “That’s a little outta character, don’t’cha think?”

“Eh. I guess,” concedes Shunsui. “Look, I – ”

"Ooooh, hold up," the same student fires back, "is it a _date?_ Cuz, if it is, then I totally get it, man - "

 _"No,"_ says Shunsui, who's starting to get a little irritated by now. As civilly as he can, he adds, "It's nothin' like that. It's a training session. With a  _guy._ So chill, okay?"

“C’mon, man,” says the first student. “They’re running a two-for-one special at this little joint I know a few streets over. And the sake there is real cheap, too – ”

“Thanks. ’preciate it, but I’m good today. Really.”

“Making preparations _and_ refusing sake? Must be one hell of a training session you guys have planned,” the second student says.

By now, Shunsui’s had enough. “Sorry, guys,” he says, and starts making fast, definitive strides away from his classmates. “We’ll catch up some other time, ’kay?”

“…’kay,” Shunsui hears the first student say behind him. “Have… fun, I guess?”

Shunsui doesn’t bother responding to that. He squints upwards for a third time. He swallows, hard. His friends’ words echo around inside his head. _“One hell of a training session,”_ he thinks to himself. _“Outta character.” Huh._ Shunsui grimaces. _Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe._

He makes it back to his room in about ten minutes. When he arrives, he slides the door closed behind him and leans against it. Shunsui feels a little jittery. _I’m nervous_ , he realizes. _I shouldn’t be nervous, but I’m nervous. Why the hell am I nervous?_ Shunsui has sparred with classmates countless times, and he’s never been nervous beforehand. _Maybe it’s Jūshirō,_ comes Shunsui’s thought. _Maybe… maybe it’s because I’ve never sparred with Jūshirō before..._

But surely it’s not that. Surely Jūshirō, kindly, soft-spoken Jūshirō, isn’t the cause of Shunsui’s nervousness. Even considering Jūshirō’s immense spiritual pressure and seeming eagerness to fight with shikai, it couldn’t be because of him. It simply couldn’t.

Could it?

Shunsui scans the room, and before long, his steely grey eyes light upon Katen Kyōkotsu, the two swords resting nonchalantly against the wall where he left them yesterday.

_...oh._

He scowls.

 _Fuck,_ he realizes. _I shoulda known._

Slowly, he crosses the room. _It’s your fault, you creepy fucker, you,_ he thinks in the general direction of his zanpakutō. _You’re the reason I’m nervous._ But Katen Kyōkotsu seems intent on ignoring him for the time being – which, if Shunsui is honest, is completely fine by him. He crosses the room and fixes his blades to his waist, making sure the ties are secure. _I… I think that’s all I need, right? Right._

Next, Shunsui slips into the men’s room. He relieves himself, and then, as he scrubs his hands clean, letting the clear water course over his skin for longer than he really needs to, he catches himself staring in the mirror. Shunsui knows what he looks like, of course. He’s in excellent physical condition, obviously, and he’s never really been the self-conscious type, but he’s never exactly thought of himself as good-looking. He has a certain cocky charm that he can turn on when he wants to, he knows, and he learned long ago that a big, goofy smile can work wonders for even the most hard-favored of faces. But good-looking? The grey eyes that stare back at Shunsui out of the mirror glint with something like mockery _. Even if you shaved your goddamn face and donned the finest silks in the Seireitei, you’d only be pretending_ , they seem to say. _You’re a plain-looking bastard with a shriveled-up heart and a freaky shikai and no sense of direction, Kyōraku Shunsui. And good fucking luck convincing yourself otherwise._

Shunsui turns off the faucet. _Maybe so,_ he thinks. _But you know what? Nobody has to know that. Nobody._ He meets the cold gaze in the mirror for one more second before he turns away.

 _That’s my secret,_ he decides as he emerges once more into the sunlit street. _My secret. Pretending has worked mighty well for me so far, hasn’t it? So, who knows? Maybe I don’t need looks. Maybe I don’t need direction._

_Maybe I’ll just keep right on pretending forever._

_And good fucking luck to YOU, convincing me that I can’t._

 

***

 

At the same time, just a few blocks away, a different pair of eyes gazes into a different mirror. These eyes are green, and they shine good-naturedly as their owner sizes up his reflection.

 _Well,_ Ukitake Jūshirō thinks. _That’s about as impressive as it gets, I suppose._

He means it, too. Jūshirō’s feeling of strength has persisted these past two days. There’s a flush of life in his cheeks that he isn’t accustomed to seeing, and he can’t help but think that it compliments his features rather nicely. _I look healthy,_ he thinks. _For once! Ha-ha! I… don’t look half-bad, now, do I?_

Jūshirō smiles at the mirror. Not long from now, he’ll be sparring with a fr – he stops. _Is “friend” the right word to use yet?_ he wonders. _You’ve only met this Shunsui, this call-me-by-my-given-name-and-I-have-a-weird-shikai-and-your-spiritual-pressure-is-bigger-than-mine Shunsui, one time._ But Jūshirō shakes his white head, denying the idea. _No,_ he thinks, less than a second later, _no. Shunsui helped you walk when you could barely stand on your own. And Shunsui agreed to spar with you using shikai. And Shunsui seemed to enjoy sending messages with that hell butterfly the other day, too - we sent messages back and forth a few more times than was really necessary. That… that could make him a friend, couldn’t it?_

He recognizes that he’s probably being overly hopeful. Jūshirō has been that way as long as he can remember, though – overly hopeful, and eager to embrace others as friends rather quickly. It’s fair, Jūshirō believes, to say that he has a lot of friends. Jūshirō has laughed with them. Jūshirō has helped them with their schoolwork. Jūshirō has been a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board for wild ideas, and a regular attendee of get-togethers over haphazardly assembled food and low-grade sake (not that Jūshirō himself ever drinks very much). Jūshirō has yet to feel comfortable revealing his deeper feelings to any of them, the way so many of them seem to be comfortable doing to him, but he figures that such comfort will develop in time. _It’s bound to, isn’t it? I’ll get there eventually, won’t I?_ He’s only known most of them for half a year, after all. And Jūshirō hardly wants to be a bother to his friends – no more than he inherently and inevitably is, anyway. Besides, even though these friendships are only newly forged and partially formed, they are friendships nonetheless. There must, Jūshirō is certain, be value in that.

 _But… Shunsui._ Jūshirō searches the mirror for answers. He still feels – just as he felt it when he first met Shunsui’s eyes, as he felt it when he touched Shunsui’s wrist, as he felt it when Shunsui, tinny voice ringing from the hell butterfly, had stammered “Tuesday afternoon sounds just fine to me” – he still feels that Shunsui is different. _Something_ about him is different.

Jūshirō leans forward and stares even more closely at the mirror. _What is it?_ he asks himself. _What is it about this man? There’s his spiritual pressure, yes, but I’m sure there’s something more._  Jūshirō thinks back to the last time he saw Shunsui, to their brief conversation about sparring with shikai. As soon as Jūshirō had mentioned shikai, Shunsui had flung up his defenses. _He seemed… almost afraid._ Jūshirō considers. _How can that be? Shikai is a beautiful thing._ But as Jūshirō re-imagines his and Shunsui’s parting that night, he remembers Shunsui’s face, Shunsui’s eyes. _There truly was a flicker of fear there,_ Jūshirō recalls. _Very immediate, very real fear. The kind of fear you don’t talk about, if you can help it –_

That thought gives Jūshirō pause.

_…could it really be that simple?_

And Jūshirō smiles again.

He’s figured it out.

_I think… I think Shunsui just needs a real friend._

Jūshirō laughs just a little. _Well! If that’s what Shunsui needs, then I can do that! I can do that for him. I can be his friend._ The laugh falters ever so slightly. He thinks of his frail body, of his white hair, of his tendency to faint when overtaxed. _I may not be able to do very much,_ Jūshirō admits to himself. _But that? Being a friend to a man who needs a friend?_ He sets his lips together in a thin, hard line, determined. _That, I can do._

Jūshirō takes a step back. His green eyes are steady in the mirror. Jūshirō feels good. Jūshirō feels ready. He brushes Sōgyo no Kotowari’s hilt with loving fingertips, and feels the zanpakutō respond with a ripple of affection, a current of fondness and warmth, that spreads up his arm. _How about you, boys?_ Jūshirō asks his sword. _Are you feeling as good today as I am? Are you ready, too?_ Distant laughter in the deep recesses of Jūshirō’s mind serve as an answer. _I thought you might be._

He nearly turns and departs right then, but something stops him. Jūshirō looks back to the mirror. _You might not feel like this again for quite some time, you know,_ he thinks, a little sadly. _These two days have been a blessing._

He isn’t sure why he does it, but, almost trancelike, Jūshirō lifts his hands from his sides and lays them flat against his ribs. He presses his fingers hard against the rough fabric of his uniform. He stands. And he stares. And Jūshirō breathes.

And Jūshirō, perversely captivated, watches himself breathe. He watches his torso expand to its full breadth and then contract again, watches his hands rise and fall against his chest in the mirror. _Savor this, Jūshirō_ , he tells himself. _Imagine – this must be very nearly how breathing feels for everyone else all the time. So… effortless. So easy. So free._

 _Only…_ Jūshirō hangs his head. As much as he’d like to, he can’t deny that slight feeling of tightness, of vague, pricking fire, inside him, somewhere not far below his heart. _That’ll never go away,_ he knows. _Not for a long, long time, at least._ He feels himself trembling, faintly. _You’ll never be like the others, Jūshirō. It’s simply not possible._

He looks up and sees that some of the color has drained from his cheeks. Sōgyo no Kotowari twitches at his side. _They’re worried about me,_ Jūshirō understands. _No need to worry, boys,_ he reassures his sword. _No need to fret! Today is still a good day, okay? I promise._ The zanpakutō twitches again. _They don’t believe me. Not that I should be surprised,_ he reflects. _I’m not sure I even fully believe myself._

The green eyes in the mirror seem faded now, somehow. Still kind, still intelligent, still intent – but faded.

And just then, the fire flairs in his chest. Jūshirō coughs. Just once – it’s small, it’s subtle, and it’s nothing, really – but it happens.

_...but Shunsui doesn't have to know, does he?_

_This is my secret,_ he resolves _._ He sets his jaw, and he wipes every flicker of doubt that he can from his face. _Yes - my secret!_ _I can hide this, can't I?_ _I'm strong enough, aren't I?_

Jūshirō smiles wanly into the mirror.

 _Yes,_ he thinks.  _I will keep my secret._

_And then, maybe..._

_Maybe..._

_For the first time..._

 

***

 

Shunsui is already there when Jūshirō arrives at the zanjutsu training grounds. The grounds are sparsely populated; a few students spar on the grassy field in the middle of the hall, and still more linger about the edges, talking amongst each other as they watch their friends or prepare themselves to fight. When he sees Jūshirō, Shunsui, seated cross-legged on the sidelines on the opposite side of the field, throws up a hand in greeting and waves it enthusiastically back and forth. Jūshirō waves back. He feels himself smiling again. _See? What did I tell you?_ he asks Sōgyo no Kotowari. _Today’s a very good day indeed._

Jūshirō crosses the grounds and sits down next to Shunsui. “Hi,” he says, simply.

“Hi yourself,” Shunsui replies. “Good to see ya again, Jūshirō.”

“Likewise,” says Jūshirō. Then as an afterthought, he adds, “Shunsui.”

“I talked to those guys about half an hour ago,” Shunsui says, indicating the two students sparring more or less directly in front of them. “Field’s ours after this bout.”

“Perfect.”

Shunsui turns and glances sideways at Jūshirō, grey eyes glinting. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Jūshirō offers Shunsui a sideways glance of his own. “Without a doubt,” he says. And he offers Shunsui a smile, too, hoping it provides him a little encouragement and a little cheer.

“Heh. Okay, then.” Shunsui leans back on his elbows. He rolls his neck around two or three times, and then looks upwards. His dark face is awash with sunlight. “Picked a nice day for it, don’t’cha think?” he asks. “Good and sunny.”

“That’s springtime for you,” says Jūshirō. A breeze, faint but warm, blows across the grounds.

“Could just as easily have been raining, though.”

“That’s true.”

“I’d say we got lucky.”

“Yes, I suppose we did.”

“Kinda hot, though,” Shunsui continues.

“Oh,” says Jūshirō, “it’s not so bad, I don’t think.”

“Kinda hot for _spring_ , though.”

“Perhaps – perhaps a bit.”

There’s an awkward gap in the dialogue then. Shunsui stares dead ahead at the sparring students and taps his fingers against the ground. _He seems anxious_. Jūshirō, instinctively, wants to do something to reassure him. “I – I’ve been looking forward to this Shunsui,” Jūshirō says. “I think it’ll be great fun.”

“Warning you now, man – I’m gonna sweat.”

“I – huh?”

“Cuz it’s so damn hot.” Shunsui maintains that dead-ahead stare as he speaks, the words coming out rapid-fire. “It’s gonna be pretty gross. I can tell.”

“Uh.” _Did he even hear me?_ “Well. I’m hardly put off by that, Shunsui. We’ll be _fighting,_ after all. I doubt I’ll make a pretty picture myself by the time we’re finished.”

“Uh- _huh_.” Shunsui taps his fingers faster and faster. The students on the field have sheathed their weapons, and they’re starting to make their way to the sidelines.

“Shunsui,” says Jūshirō slowly, “are… are _you_ sure _you’re_ ready for this? I… I didn’t mean to push you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

“Unless,” Shunsui says, “you have an ice-type zanpakutō? That could make a difference, I guess.”

“An ice… what?”

“In the _heat_ , Jūshirō. If you have an ice-type zanpakutō, things’ll be a little cooler, ya know?”

“I – oh.”

“Well?”

“Huh?”

“Do you?”

“Have an ice-type, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Um. I…” _How should I answer him?_ wonders Jūshirō. _For all I know, I actually will have an ice-type zanpakutō for the next few hours. And I certainly don’t want to seem deceitful or dishonest – I’ll never become a real friend to him if that’s what he thinks right off the bat._

Jūshirō’s eyes flit to Shunsui’s weapon – _No,_ Jūshirō realizes, _it’s weapons, plural! He has two swords, does he? Even sealed! I’ve never seen that before._ He tries, as quickly as he can, to gauge what kind of power Shunsui’s zanpakutō holds. _Somehow, I don’t see a zanpakutō like that being an ice-type,_ he decides. _That, coupled with the way Shunsui phrased his first question... He seemed to imply that it would be my zanpakutō, not his, that might cool things down…_ “No,” he says after a moment, “sorry. I’m afraid it’s not an ice-type.” _Not today, anyway!_

“What’s that look for?” Shunsui asks, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What look?” says Jūshirō, schooling his face into the blankest stare he can manage. “I wasn’t – ah – there wasn’t any look.”

“Nice try,” says Shunsui. “I bet you have an ice-type after all, don’t you?”

“No,” he says, feeling oddly guilty and struggling, but not quite succeeding, to keep that blank look on his face. “I don’t. Really, I don’t.”

“I’m gonna find out what your shikai is in just a second anyway, ya know,” Shunsui says pointedly.

“Oh?” And a sliver of the smile that Jūshirō has been attempting to contain breaks through. “Are you, now?”

“You saying I’m not?”

“Maybe...” Jūshirō’s smile grows.

“Whaddya mean, _maybe?”_

“I mean,” says Jūshirō, “that _maybe_ you’re not the only one with a weird shikai, Shunsui.”

“Yeah, right. I dunno if you know what _weird_ means, man.” Shunsui sits up, and makes to reach for his two swords – but then he thinks better of it, and lets his hand fall into his lap. “Can I – ” he starts, and then he frowns.

“What is it?”

“Eh. Nothin’ much. I just wanted – uh.”

“Whatever it is,” Jūshirō says gently, “you can tell me. I promise I won’t laugh.”

“It’s not that,” says Shunsui, almost absentmindedly. “I know you won’t laugh. You’re not the type.” He turns his frown towards his swords. “It’s just… ”

“Yes?”

“Do you… uh.” Shunsui’s fingers twitch in his lap, betraying his nervousness. “Do you… _like_ your zanpakutō, Jūshirō?”

By reflex, Jūshirō lays a hand on Sōgyo no Kotowari. “I… well, yes,” he confesses. “Very much.” He watches as Shunsui nods his head, gravely. Jūshirō is almost afraid to ask his next question, but he knows full well that he should. “And… you? Do you – ah – ”

“Hey! Shunsui!” One of the students who was sparring before waves vigorously, making sure he has Shunsui’s attention. “All yours, man!” he calls, as he and his training partner make for the doors.

“Thanks,” Shunsui shouts across the field, perhaps more forcefully than he needs to. The student gives Shunsui a massive, exaggerated thumbs-up, and then ducks out, closing the doors behind him.

Shunsui meets Jūshirō’s eyes. His gaze is hard, resolved. _And_ , sees Jūshirō, _a little sad, too._ Then, he seizes his zanpakutō roughly from the ground and stands. “Do I like my zanpakutō?” Shunsui says, his voice thick. “No, Jūshirō. No. I don’t.” He breaks away and strides to the center of the field, then turns back to Jūshirō, who still sits, more than a little disquieted, on the grass. “C’mon, man!” Shunsui yells. “We doin’ this thing or not?”

Jūshirō bites his lip. _I hope this wasn’t an absolutely horrible idea._ “We’re – ah – doing this thing, all right, Shunsui!” he calls back, hoping to assuage any doubts Shunsui might have. Then, he picks up Sōgyo no Kotowari and walks, with confidence and ease, to the middle of the field.

He stands even with Shunsui, whose swords are at the ready in his hands. Shunsui looks balanced, poised. He cuts a truly striking figure, Jūshirō notes. The focus in his face strips away anything that formerly appeared laid-back or boyish, and it’s clear from his stance that he could move any direction, any at all, almost effortlessly. His eyes have gone cold. He does not smile.

Two thoughts strike Jūshirō at the same time. The first thought is: _This is not a man who takes pleasure in fighting. And that… that’s… I think that’s good._ Jūshirō suddenly feels a slight tremor of fear work its way down his spine. _Because…_ he swallows, steadies himself. _Because…_

Because the second thought is: _This is a man who can kill._

 _But enough of that_ , Jūshirō resolves. _It’s just training, isn’t it? It’s - it’s just practice! It’s just fun!_

In one smooth motion, Jūshirō draws Sōgyo no Kotowari. He tips his head to Shunsui in a kind of salute.

Shunsui nods back. “To the first blood?” he asks.

“All right,” says Jūshirō. He adjusts his fingers on his zanpakutō’s hilt, making sure he has a firm grip on the weapon.

“Good.” Shunsui’s voice has taken on a lifeless monotone. “First one to cut his opponent wins.”

“Right.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.” Green eyes lock onto grey once more. “You, Shunsui?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Jūshirō raises his blade. “In that case,” he says, “let’s go.”

_Time to find out what Kyōraku Shunsui’s shikai is all about._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hello again, everyone!
> 
> Thanks again for being so patient as I continue to edit and update this fic. If you've read the old version, you'll probably recognize that this chapter and the previous one haven't changed very much - so, apologies for any redundancy, I s'pose. (And if you're new to the fic, then - welcome, of course! And - do feel free to ignore any comments about previous versions, and to simply enjoy this fic as is. I'll try my best to keep said comments to a minimum, if I can.)
> 
> But, first - the reason this update is so long in coming is that (silly me) it didn't occur to me to post chapters that are more or less unchanged prior to, rather than at the same time as, the chapters which are undergoing more significant changes. I kinda figured, at first, that it would be somewhat disappointing if a chapter or two that I hadn't changed much was posted without being accompanied by either a significantly edited or flat-out, brand-new one. But I thought it over yesterday, and I realized that that didn't make any sense at all - it would be especially irrelevant, I also realized, for any new readers. So, with that in mind - we have today's little two-chapter update.
> 
> Much love to you all, my friends, as always! Thanks a million times over for giving this little ol' fic a read, and, as always, for your kindness and understanding as I work my way through these edits and updates. Y'all are the best :) 
> 
> Oh, and - of course - /also/ as always - enjoy!


	4. Black Shadows

_There is a small clearing not far outside the Seireitei’s eastern gate. It is lush, and tranquil, and very green. Tall grass sways when the breeze catches it, and tree branches stretch and bow like graceful dancers when that breeze grows and blows fast and becomes wind. Mountains loom in the distance, keeping hazy watch over this tucked-away sliver of peace on days when the skies are clear, and crouching, subtle, and hidden, but still just as protective, behind the clouds on days when they are not._

_Kyōraku Shunsui comes here, sometimes, when he wants to be alone. He comes here, sometimes, when he wants to escape the hard-packed streets and tight-packed crowds of the Seireitei, and when he wants to spread his arms out wide without shame, or embarrassment, or fear of clocking some zoned-out asshole in the face with his big, unwieldy hands. He comes here when he wants to think undisturbed. When he wants to frown, and clench his fists, and scream out his frustration and anger. When he wants to laugh, stupidly and freely. When he wants to hum a melancholy tune or two to himself, with only the roiling clouds or the blinking stars overhead for company. When he wants to reminisce, about the childhood he always wanted but never had. When he wants to dream, about the future he never wanted but which has now been laid clearly before him, fixed inevitably and for the rest of his days. When he wants - needs, he amends, after a split second - to drink himself into a solitary, shit-faced stupor._

_Kyōraku Shunsui comes here when he wants to be himself._

_He stands, daishō drawn and eyes dead closed, in the middle of the clearing. He is surprised by the steadiness of his own hands; he’d expected, he realizes, to be scared. But here, away from the prying eyes of his classmates and the discerning gazes of his teachers, he feels strangely at ease. Katen Kyōkotsu’s whispers, still sly and slippery, are shot through with an unexpected sense of calm, of reassurance - and maybe it’s just Shunsui’s easily excitable mind, but he could swear that it is tinged with a trace of deliberate seduction, too. “Can’t say I blame you,” he says to her, a humorless smirk sliding onto his face. “Waking up to figure out you’re tied to a handsome stud like me?”_

**_Don’t push your luck,_ ** _she says._

_This time, Shunsui has come to the clearing to practice. To learn, he thinks, and to get a freakin’ grip on this whole shikai thing. He could have gone to the zanjutsu training grounds, he supposes - he knows he’s gonna have to go shikai there on Tuesday when he spars with Ukitake Jūshirō, after all - but he doesn’t relish the idea of revealing his powers before he absolutely has to. The fewer people who know what he can do, he’d resolved, the better._

_At the very least, he reflects grimly, it pretty much can't go any worse than it did the first time._

_The thrill of tapping into shikai in the middle of class last week had been unlike any thrill that Shunsui had ever experienced. They’d all been trying, Shunsui and all of his classmates - and the pressure was on, because one student in their year had managed it already. Who, Shunsui had wondered, having no idea at the time how ironic the question was, was going to be next? Did he even want it to be him? Did he want that kind of responsibility? Was he ready? He’d shaken his shaggy head. Probably not, he'd decided._

_And so, Kyōraku Shunsui had done what he’s always done at those pesky times when push comes to shove, but he doesn’t particularly feel like shoving._

_He’d imagined that the whole thing was a game._

 

***

 

It is incredible, thinks Shunsui, that Jūshirō can look so kind and harmless without a weapon in his hand. Because _with_ a weapon in his hand, he is a man transformed. It’s almost unsettling. His presence is determined, deadly even – and yet somehow, overwhelmingly peaceful. There’s no killing intent in his eyes, nothing that smacks of bloodlust or passion for fighting, but the way he moves is… _perfect_.

The word can’t help but slip into Shunsui’s mind. Jūshirō handles his zanpakutō like he was born to do it. Shunsui raises the sword in his right hand to block Jūshirō’s next attack, and their weapons clash, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the training grounds. Jūshirō slides sideways, whirling his blade. Seeing the slightest of openings, Shunsui takes a risk and extends his left hand, hoping that his shorter sword might make it past Jūshirō’s defenses. No such luck – one instant, Jūshirō is right next to Shunsui, completely within Shunsui’s range, and the next, he’s gone, leaving Shunsui gaping at the empty air where he once stood. _Where’d he – ?_ Before Shunsui can even complete the question in his mind, he senses something behind him, hears the whistle of a blade slicing through the warm spring air – _shit!_ Shunsui flash-steps away, and he reappears about twenty feet farther down the field. He looks back to the place he was before and, unsurprised, sees Jūshirō hovering there. Had Shunsui not moved, Jūshirō’s zanpakutō would, without a doubt, have cut him.

“Almost got me, Jūshirō!” calls Shunsui, flashing what he hopes looks like a mischievous grin.

“I did, didn’t I?” Jūshirō shouts back. “That’s quite a flash-step you’ve got, Shunsui. Very impressive!”

“Well, thanks!” Shunsui gives Jūshirō a little bow. “I’m pretty proud of it, myself.”

“You should be!” And then Jūshirō is gone again. _Nope_ , thinks Shunsui, raising his swords protectively, _not this time, pal._ Jūshirō appears right where Shunsui suspected he might – off to his left, the side on which Shunsui holds his shorter sword. “Though,” Jūshirō says, “I must confess, I’m rather proud of my own flash-step, too.”

Jūshirō’s blade is mere centimeters from Shunsui’s neck. Shunsui’s blades are crossed beneath Jūshirō’s, and he’s keeping the point of the weapon at bay for the time being, but – _I gotta be careful. Gotta get outta this unscathed. If I move too quickly, his blade might slip in just the wrong way…_ Shunsui shoves his swords forwards and upwards, and Jūshirō teeters backwards for just a moment, thrown off balance. It’s brief, but it’s enough – “Aha!” yells Shunsui, triumphant. “Nice try, buddy! Almost had me that time, too!”

They’re at something of a stalemate. They float a few feet above the ground, directly opposite one another, each slightly on the defensive, each watching his opponent closely, each tracking every small movement, every slight fluctuation of spiritual pressure, every tiny, tiny flick of the eyes. _Who’s gonna move first? Me or him?_ He feels a jolt of impatience from Katen Kyōkotsu. _Calm down, you no-good, crazy piece of steel_ , Shunsui thinks. _You’ll get to use your shikai today, I freakin’ promise. I –_

Jūshirō is right next to him once again. _Man, he’s fast!_ It’s all Shunsui can do to parry, and then mount a reasonable counterattack. He spins around and manages to situate himself behind Jūshirō. _Got him this time!_ Shunsui’s short sword slices through the air, the blade aimed at Jūshirō’s shoulder. But there, once again – _as always, dammit –_ is Jūshirō’s sword, blocking the attack. Jūshirō’s blade slides down the length of Shunsui’s, and he ducks underneath it, twisting around to face Shunsui as he goes. _He’s good_ , Shunsui thinks, not for the first time since the fight began. _Really good. Probably – no, definitely – the best student I’ve ever faced, ever._ He watches Jūshirō, who hovers, alert, about five feet below him. _Who woulda thought it, huh? Guy like him? All skinny, and apparently prone to falling over in the middle of the street?_ Shunsui shrugs to himself. _People surprise you, I guess._

Jūshirō grins up at him. “Something wrong, Shunsui?” he asks.

“Nah,” Shunsui says with a smirk. “Just givin’ both of us a little break. Wouldn’t want this to be over too quickly, now, would I? Where would the fun in that be?”

“Well,” says Jūshirō, “that’s very considerate of you. But something tells me you’re not being entirely truthful…” He shifts his zanpakutō ever so slightly.  “Could it be you’re contemplating going into shikai?”

“Could be,” Shunsui replies slowly. He doesn’t mean it, though. He’s not sure he’s quite ready for shikai just yet.

But Katen Kyōkotsu seems to have heard him. _Damn you,_ he thinks at his sword, _I wasn’t being serious. I don’t wanna play your freaky, fucked-up games just yet. Okay?_ His zanpakutō seems mildly offended by that. She offers a suggestion, and Shunsui takes in a sharp breath, conceding its point. _Yes,_ he thinks, _I can see that I’m above him. That’s pretty damn obvious, isn’t it?_ The zanpakutō urges him further. _You’re being impatient_ , Shunsui tells her. Then, a second later – _yes, I KNOW you don’t care if you’re being pushy. I think you LIKE being pushy, you stupid –_ Katen Kyōkotsu surges with energy. _I told you – freakin’ calm down! It’s not like you can go into shikai on your own_ , Shunsui thinks furiously at the persistent weapon. _It doesn’t work that way. You need my help for that. You know that._

Shunsui looks down at Jūshirō, whose focused gaze hasn’t left his opponent, it seems, even for a second. He grips his swords tighter. _Fine_ , he decides, finally. _Shikai it is. You’ve won this round, m’lady. Don’t get too damn smug about it._ But of course, he can feel Katen Kyōkotsu gloating over this small victory. He’s only had about a week to get accustomed to his zanpakutō’s snide sense of superiority, but -  _no surprise there,_ he thinks. _Typical. Typical, creepy-ass fucker._ His anger only mounts when Katen Kyōkotsu seems to take that as a compliment.

“All right, Jūshirō,” says Shunsui. “Ready for some real fun?”

“Am I ever!” Jūshirō laughs. “Shikai, then?”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” But Shunsui still can’t help but feel uncertain, unprepared. _Can I buy some time to psych myself up?_ he wonders. _There’s gotta be a way._ “Say,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “here’s an idea. I’ll show ya mine if you show me yours.”

For the first time since the bout began, Jūshirō looks away, his eyes shutting and his head shaking back and forth as he struggles to contain his laughter. “I must admit,” he says, when he’s regained his composure, “I’ve never heard it put quite that way before.” _Jeez_ , thinks Shunsui, _if I’d known I could break his focus in a fight by embarrassing him with innuendos, I’d’a done that ages ago._ “But,” Jūshirō continues, “I think that seems fair.”

“…wait, really? You’re not kidding?”

“Not at all! I think it’s completely fair. I’m the one who asked about training with shikai, after all. And besides, this is only practice – I don’t mind.”

Jūshirō takes half a step backwards in the air. He grips his sword with both hands and holds it boldly out before him, an expression of intense concentration coming over his pale face. He takes a deep breath. A faraway look comes into his eyes. His spiritual pressure swells - and swells - and _swells_ \- swells so greatly that it scrapes up against the edges of Shunsui’s own spiritual pressure. Shunsui, dazed all of a sudden, feels his breathing go shallow, and feels sweat begin to bead on his forehead. _His reiatsu… shit, what kind of power does this guy have?_ The sheer size of Jūshirō’s reiatsu is incredible, but so, Shunsui thinks, is the fact that Jūshirō is able to keep a reiatsu like that under control at all. Even so, little, electric tendrils of power slip every now and then out of Jūshirō’s grasp and slam, _hard_ , into Shunsui, and Shunsui, somehow, manages to keep himself standing upright, despite the assault. _I’m sure he’s not trying to wallop me like this - good-natured bastard like him? - but holy SHIT,_ he thinks. He sees Jūshirō’s black brow furrow, sees sweat beading on Jūshirō’s forehead, too - and Shunsui begins, just barely, to understand. _He can’t rein all of it in,_ Shunsui realizes. _Dude would probably kill himself if he tried to, huh? That would take a ridiculous amount of energy… shit..._

But then, Jūshirō is speaking. “All waves, rise now and become my shield,” he intones, his voice resonant and strong and infused with power. “Lightning, strike now and become my blade!” Shunsui watches, still dazed, but enraptured. As Jūshirō finishes the words, his zanpakutō splits in two. Jūshirō’s arms are crossed in front of him now. Twin swords frame his face. The swords are long and thin, and about halfway down each weapon, a notch-like second blade breaks away and doubles back on itself – _a tricky defensive feature of some kind, maybe_ , Shunsui speculates. A chain of deep crimson hangs from the hilts of the swords, connecting them, and, faintly, Shunsui can see a series of small, square charms – _five of them, I think –_ dangling from the chain, swaying gently in the springtime breeze. Jūshirō very nearly glows with pride and happiness. “Sōgyo no Kotowari!” he proclaims, beaming.

Shunsui just stands for a moment, silent and stupid. “I… wow,” is all he can say, when he finds his voice again. “Two swords, huh? I like your style! Sweet release, dude!”

“Thanks,” says Jūshirō. “I… yes, I... I’m rather fond of it!” It seems to Shunsui that he can barely speak though such a big smile. He looks incredible, really – all vigor, all joy, the very picture of a devoted and enthusiastic Shinigami-to-be. The wind picks up, and it catches his short, white hair, blowing it back and away from his face. Jūshirō’s green eyes glint in the sunlight. _How lucky he is_ , reflects Shunsui, _to feel such love for his zanpakutō._ The very idea of embracing Katen Kyōkotsu the way Jūshirō has embraced his weapon - Sōgyo no Kotowari, apparently – makes Shunsui shudder.

“Your turn, now,” Jūshirō calls up to Shunsui. “Seeing as I’ve… ah… ‘shown you mine…’”

Shunsui starts. “Uh,” he says.

“Go on,” Jūshirō urges, tilting his head towards Shunsui in encouragement.

“Uh,” Shunsui says again. “Yeah, but - ”

“Hmm?”

“Uh - I - ” Shunsui swallows. “You still haven’t shown me what yours does, y’know,” he says. “Not sure that counts, man.”

Jūshirō’s smile twitches, becoming something like a kindly, amused smirk. “Trust me, Shunsui,” he says. “You’ll get a much better idea of what my shikai can do after you…” He pauses, chuckling again. “...after you ‘show me yours…’”

 _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_ Shunsui wonders. He grips his swords even tighter. _Well. Whatever it means, if it’s true, then there’s no way I’m getting out of this now._ “You sure you wanna see this, man?” Shunsui asks. His voice sounds distant and hollow in his own ears; his mouth has gone dry. “I told ya, it’s – ”

“– _weird,_ Shunsui. Yes. I know.” Jūshirō lowers his blades and lets his arms hang at his sides. “I know.”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a – ”

“Shunsui.”

“ – good idea, Jūshirō – ”

“ _Shunsui."_

“Huh?”

“Look at me.”

Shunsui hadn’t even noticed that he’d averted his eyes. Slowly, he moves to meet Jūshirō’s firm gaze. “What?”

“Shunsui. You can do this.”

“I know I can _do_ it, Jūshirō,” he snaps, much more harshly than he intended to.

“You don’t need to worry – ”

“Easy for _you_ to say. You’ve never seen – ”

“No, I haven’t. But _think_ of it, Shunsui. One day, you’ll be in an actual battle – you’ll be up against a hollow or something, and you’ll _have_ to go into shikai to – ”

“It’s not the _same_ , Jūshirō – ”

“Oh?” There’s a certain fire in Jūshirō’s voice that Shunsui has never heard before. “And why not?”

“Because – because – ”

“Yes?”

Shunsui lets out a cry of frustration. “It’s because I don’t give a _shit_ about what some hollow thinks of me,” he says. “My shikai – no, shut up, Jūshirō, lemme finish here – my shikai’s really freaky, okay? It’s really fucked up, okay?  And I’m – I’m afraid that it – that I – that I – ahhh, dammit, I’m just _afraid_ …”

“Afraid?” Jūshirō’s voice is soft again.

Shunsui nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Afraid.” His palms have begun to sweat; he can feel his grip on his weapons beginning to slip. “Fucking terrified, actually.”

“I…” Jūshirō blinks. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I – if I’d known, I never would have – ”

“But you _did_ ,” says Shunsui. “And I couldn’t say no. There was no way I could say no.”

“You _could_ have, Shunsui. You absolutely – ”

“No. I couldn’t have. What would you have thought?” Jūshirō opens his mouth, but says nothing. “I mean it. What would you have thought?”

“Shunsui,” Jūshirō whispers, “you don’t have to – ”

“I couldn’t say no,” he repeats. “I couldn’t let you think that. Who the fuck knows why, but… I couldn’t.”

They’ve come to another stalemate, this one more uncomfortable than the last. _Who’s gonna move first?_ thinks Shunsui bitterly. _Me or him?_ He looks down again at Jūshirō, who still stands, calm and reserved and regarding Shunsui carefully, with his twin swords clutched in his hands. Shunsui grips Katen Kyōkotsu hard. _Well_ , he thinks, scarcely daring to believe himself, _I’ve gotta show off my shikai sometime, right?_

Shunsui closes his eyes. Katen Kyōkotsu can scarcely contain her excitement. _She knows it’s almost time to play._ “Jūshirō,” he says, deadly serious.

“Yes?”

“Move above me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“All right…”

Shunsui can sense Jūshirō’s hesitation. “Trust me, Jūshirō,” he says. “It’s better this way. My zanpakutō is a fickle, fickle bitch, and I don’t want to take any risks.” He cracks his eyes open for a moment and sees Jūshirō flash-step to a higher position in the air. Katen Kyōkotsu all but cringes, thoroughly displeased. “It’s not giving up an advantage,” Shunsui mutters. “It’s keeping him safe. Now, for the last time, calm the _fuck_ down.” He raises the blade in his left hand. “You’ll have your chance soon enough.”

He can sense Jūshirō watching him from above. _Here goes nothing._ “Flower wind rage,” Shunsui recites solemnly, lifting the sword in his right hand so it crosses the one in his left, “and flower god roar.” _Oh, gods –_ “Heavenly wind rage – ” _Oh, gods, I’m really doing this –_ “and heavenly demon – ” _No turning back now –_ “sneer!” He drags the blade of his right sword swiftly along the blade of his left, shivering as he hears and feels steel quiver against steel. The swords grow and change in his hands, darkening, curving, becoming heavier, stronger. Before long, Shunsui holds two black and silver scimitars with rounded ruts on the insides of their blades and blood red tassels hanging from their hilts. _My moody mistress, free again at last. If only she weren’t so thrilled about it._

Shunsui opens his eyes.

“Katen Kyōkotsu,” he says.

 

***

 

_But it hadn’t been a game._

_Of course it hadn’t been a game._

_At least - not in the way that Shunsui had meant it to be._

_The next thing Shunsui had known, strange words were spilling out of his gaping mouth, and his strange swords were growing stranger in his quaking hands. Whirls of wind and color and inexplicable dark had raged and swirled inside his skull and inside the training hall. Fear had flashed instantly through his head, his chest, through his fingers and toes._ **_You wanted to play games, Kyōraku Shunsui?_ ** _a voice had whispered. His eyes had grown wide. His limbs had begun to shake._ **_Very well. Then we shall play games, you and I..._ **

_He’d told himself, again and again and again, against the evidence, against all odds, that this truly was a game - just a game - just a silly, little game - that the wild blasts of wind whipping forth from his blades couldn’t be a product of his power - that the black shadows writhing on the walls weren’t calling to him, weren’t dancing to the rhythms of his swords - that his swords, for that matter, had not changed shape, had not grown black and heavy - no - NO - if his swords had changed, then this… this was…_

**_Shikai,_ ** _the voice had hissed._

_It was a woman’s voice, he’d realized, stunned and more than a little shaken._

_A wily, slippery woman’s voice, inside his head._

_At that, Shunsui had nearly ceased breathing altogether._

_What the hell, he'd wondered helplessly, was wrong with him?_

_The raging wind had begun to settle. Shunsui, at a loss, had stared at his hands. Grasped tightly in each fist, he’d found two grand scimitars._

**_Say my name,_ ** _the woman’s voice had whispered._

_“What…” he’d whispered back, “what… what's your name?”_

_Vaguely, he’d been aware of his sensei calling out to him, offering exclamations of congratulations. In light of Shunsui’s deeply impressive and praiseworthy accomplishment, the sensei had managed to overlook the blood beginning to pool on the floor not far from the middle of the room. It was leaking slowly outwards from the cracked head of one of Shunsui’s classmates, who had fallen to the ground when a particularly violent blast of wind from Shunsui’s blades had whipped outwards. Shunsui, stunned and borderline catatonic, had noted the deep spreading red in his peripheral vision. Had he done that? And without even meaning to?_

_He supposed he had._

_The realization had made him feel sick._

**_You know my name,_ ** _the voice had cut in._

_“Do… d-do I…?”_

**_Speak, Kyōraku Shunsui,_ ** _the voice had hissed._ **_Speak, and the next words you speak will be my name._ ** _He hadn’t known until then what it was like to hear a smile without seeing one; but the voice in his head had, he was certain, been grinning madly._ **_Think of it as another little game, if you like,_ ** _it had said._ **_You’ll become very, very good at playing little games before I’m through with you._ ** _A sly, little chuckle from the voice then._ **_That much, I can promise!_ **

_Shunsui, for his part, had only shuddered._

_And then, with shaking words, he’d spoken the name of his zanpakutō for the very first time._

 

***

 

Jūshirō can’t figure it out.

_…move above him?_

At first, Jūshirō had assumed that it had something to do with the process of Shunsui’s release – perhaps, he’d considered, Shunsui’s shikai initially generated some massive ejection of power. Or, perhaps Jūshirō would simply have been in the way of Shunsui’s release if he stayed where he was – perhaps a large manifestation of some kind appeared underneath Shunsui, or perhaps Shunsui’s weapons extended below him somehow. But as Shunsui had finished his release, Jūshirō had only been able to stare, utterly perplexed.

The release is impressive, no question about it. It’s every bit as grand and glorious as the transition into shikai should be. And Jūshirō had been surprised, and more than a little delighted, when he’d heard Shunsui’s verbal command to his zanpakutō – _It’s almost as long as my own,_ Jūshirō had mused. _A veritable poem to release his shikai! And two swords, too!_ He can’t help but think now that the two of them had practically been made to spar. _It’s nearly perfect, isn’t it?_

But Jūshirō remains vexed. _Why ask me to move above him? Why?_ It must be to do with his shikai’s abilities, Jūshirō reasons, not his release. He rapidly considers what he knows about Shunsui’s shikai. _I know it involves two weapons,_ he thinks. _I know his zanpakutō isn’t an ice-type. I know Shunsui wanted to begin this part of the bout with me situated above him – though_ , he reflects, _I have no idea whether that gives him an advantage or not. Under ordinary circumstances, I would assume that it does, but in this case…_ Jūshirō regards Shunsui searchingly. _I can’t tell_ , he thinks. _This man and his shikai are an absolute enigma to me._

Except, that is, for one detail, which Shunsui has made abundantly clear: _It’s… weird. His shikai is… weird._ Jūshirō frowns. _So he says, anyway._

There’s only one way that Jūshirō’s going to find out just what that means, though. “Well done!” he calls down to Shunsui. “That’s a release if I’ve ever seen one! Very, very nice!”

“Thank you,” says Shunsui, but there’s no mirth in his voice. He keeps his eyes cast down.

“Doesn’t seem that… ah… _weird_ … to me, Shunsui,” tries Jūshirō.

“You haven’t seen the half of it.”

“Show me, then!”

Shunsui’s eyes snap upwards. “Show you?”

“Yes! Show me, Shunsui – attack me!”

“Jūshirō – ”

“Once again, that’s what’s fair,” says Jūshirō, cutting Shunsui off on purpose. “I released my shikai before you did, so why don’t you make the first move?”

“You sure?”

“Completely sure.”

“I – well…” Shunsui squares his shoulders. “All right,” he says. “But remember – you asked for it.”

“Duly noted.” Jūshirō gives Shunsui another little smile – _I think he needs all the encouragement he can get, really_. “Say,” he adds, “I don’t need to stay up above you the whole time, do I?”

He meant the question to be something of a joke, but Shunsui, countenance grim, only says, “Once we get started, I doubt you’ll be able to.”

“Oh.” Jūshirō feels the smile slip from his face. “Well. All right, then.”

He stares down at Shunsui and shifts Sōgyo no Kotowari to a defensive position, making sure the sword in his left hand extends slightly farther than the one in his right. _Best to be ready for anything_. Jūshirō feels Shunsui’s spiritual pressure surge, can almost see Shunsui’s mind working furiously, as he raises his arms, no doubt in preparation for an attack. _It’s a kidō type_ , Jūshirō decides, watching closely.  _I’d stake my life on it. But what does it do? Show me, Shunsui – Show me your weird shikai – Don’t be afraid! – Show me –_

“Hey, Jūshirō – ” says Shunsui, his arms drawn all the way back now, his expression harder than Jūshirō has seen it yet.

“…yes?” Jūshirō answers warily.

“How do you feel about games?” His voice cracks. _Fear again?_ Jūshirō wonders. _Or… or eagerness? Readiness? Excitement?_ Looking at Shunsui’s face, Jūshirō can’t tell.

“…games?” manages Jūshirō.

“That’s right,” says Shunsui. “Games.”

“Games?” Jūshirō repeats. “Shunsui, what are you talking – ”

“You’re about to find out!” he calls, and he thrusts himself backwards through the air. He swings one blade forwards. A snarl splits his face. Jūshirō grips his swords hard. _Here it comes_. Shunsui draws in a massive breath. His enormous spiritual pressure spikes. _How can he have so much power?_ Jūshirō’s eyes grow wide. _What’s he doing? What’s he capable of? What’s this attack? Why – why did I have to move above him?_

_And what on earth did he mean by… games?_

 

***

 

_He tells Katen Kyōkotsu that he needs to learn to play her games before Tuesday. He tells her that he’ll be facing another student, one-on-one, using shikai, and that he wants control over the reckless, dangerous power contained within his blades. “I’ve only just met him,” he explains, “and he seems like a nice guy. I don’t want to hurt him by doing something stupid.”_

_At that, she only laughs._

_“I think it’s a pretty damn reasonable thing to ask for,” he mutters. “Control over my own gods-damned powers?”_

_At that, she only laughs harder._

_But, after several long minutes of bantering and bargaining and pushing Shunsui’s meager pride around, she gives in._ **_I won’t be able to teach you everything today, Shunsui,_ ** _she says._ **_In fact, there are some things that I’m still learning myself._ **

_“But you’ll help me?”_

_Much to his relief, she consents._

**_Repeat after me,_ ** _she says._

_He smirks._

_“Repeat after me,” he says back._

_Shunsui doesn't know whether weapons can raise their eyebrows. If they can, then that’s definitely what Katen Kyōkotsu is doing right now._

**_You have a sense of humor, I see._ **

_“If I’m laughing,” Shunsui replies darkly, “then I know I’m still breathing.”_

_That answer seems to satisfy her._

**_You wanted,_ ** _she continues,_ **_to learn control. Hmm? To learn how to keep a lady like me at  your capricious beck and call?_ **

_He grinds his teeth together, aggravated at the implication. “I’m not like that,” he growls. “What I want is to learn to use your powers without hurting anyone.” He senses that she’s about about to protest - quickly, he adds - “Not any more than I mean to, okay? I’m not an idiot.”_

**_Hmm,_ ** _she says._ **_That’s why you released me in this charming, little clearing, then? With no people around to cut or slice or blast to pieces?_ **

_“Yeah.”_

**_Bit of a disappointment, Shunsui,_ ** _she says sadly._ **_After last time._ **

_“Last time,” he replies, “is why we’re here, all alone like this, in the first place.”_

**_Hmm,_ ** _she says again._ **_How badly did we hurt that boy?_ **

_Shunsui feels like he’s going to be sick again, even though it’s been two whole days since the incident. “He still hasn’t woken up,” he says quietly. “Squad Four says that fall probably fucked his head up pretty good.” He swallows. “They don’t know if he’ll ever wake up, actually.”_

_She considers._ **_Not bad,_ ** _she says,_ **_for a day’s work._ **

_“No.” Fury builds inside his gut.“No - that’s wrong. That’s - that’s - that’s WRONG, m’lady,” he says, slapping the honorific on the end of his sentence without really meaning to. She twitches, though; she likes it. He makes a mental note to apply courtesy and flattery when she gets moody. If these past few days are anything to go by, he’s going to need all the tricks he can find to keep his zanpakutō in check._

**_Why?_ ** _she inquires sweetly._ **_Why is it wrong?_ **

_“The fact that you even have to ask - ”_

**_I’m a weapon,_ ** _she snaps, suddenly cold and stern._ **_It’s my job to wound, Shunsui. To hurt. To cause destruction, and heartbreak._ ** _She laughs._ **_What did you think my job was, you ignorant boy?_ ** _She laughs again, harder, louder._ **_Did you fancy me a peacekeeper? Did you fancy YOURSELF a peacekeeper?_ **

_He feels weak; he still feels sick. He doesn’t know how to answer her question._

_When he says nothing, she presses further._ **_Shunsui,_ ** _she croons._ **_Wasn’t there at least a small part of you that liked hurting that boy?_ **

_“No,” he snaps, instantly._

**_Are you sure?_ **

_“No - ”_

**_Didn’t you like seeing his blood run? Didn’t you like seeing his eyes go dim and dull?_ **

_“NO,” he shouts, so harshly it hurts his throat._

**_Hmm,_ ** _she says, for a third time._ **_Say what you will, Kyōraku Shunsui._ ** _She seems to relish the next words she speaks._ **_I,_ ** _she says,_ **_enjoyed it immensely._ **

_“All I want,” he says, softly, his words trembling, “is for you to teach me how to use this power the right way.”_

**_The right way? And what, Shunsui, does that mean?_ **

_He sighs. “I don’t even know, m’lady,” he admits. “I just - I don’t wanna hurt any more people than I have to.” His mind flashes again to the blood on the floor of the training hall, and to the slack, dumb face of his innocent classmate. “And,” he adds, “I don’t wanna hurt the wrong people, either.”_

_She mulls over his words for a moment._ **_Believe what you’d like to believe, Kyōraku Shunsui,_ ** _she finally says._ **_I won’t stop you. Very well - I’ll teach you a little bit of control, if that is what you seek._ **

_“Thank you, m’lady.”_

**_You’re most welcome._ **

_She pauses, gathering herself, her thoughts._

_Next, she asks him to close his eyes._

_She asks him to remember the days of his childhood._

**_Did you play games when you were a child?_ **

_He snorts at her. “What the hell?” he asks. “You’ve gotta know by know that I didn’t.”_

**_Not even with your brother?_ **

_He scowls. “No.”_

_He hears that smile in her voice again._ **_But you always wanted to, didn’t you?_ **

_“I… I mean, not - ”_

**_Be honest._ **

_He clenches his fists tighter around the hilts of his weapons. “Yes.”_

**_Good._ ** _Her smile grows._ **_Now, Kyōraku Shunsui, is your chance. You may play all the games you want, now and forever._ ** _Her voice turns softer, now. Kinder._ **_Which game,_ ** _she asks,_ **_did you always want to play most when you were a child?_ **

_“I…” He doesn’t even have to think about it. He knows the answer right away. But the question is so, so strange… and he’s sure that his freaky-ass zanpakutō could figure it out if she wanted to, considering she has access to the full scope of his thoughts and memories… and what’s more, there’s a sliver of grotesque pleasure twinkling behind the kindness in his zanpakutō’s voice that he really, really doesn’t like…_

**_I will grow impatient,_ ** _Katen Kyōkotsu says sharply,_ **_if I must ask you to be honest every time I put a question to you._ **

_“I…”_

**_Shunsui?_ **

_“I…”_

**_For what it's worth,_ ** _she says,_ **_I already know the answer. But you, Shunsui, need to hear yourself say it for this to work._ **

_He hesitates; he waits._

_Katen Kyōkotsu remains silent._

_After a long moment, he takes a deep breath._

_“Spinning tops,” he finally says. “When I was a kid, the thing I wanted to play with most was spinning tops.”_

 

_***_

 

_"Bushōgoma!”_

Shunsui’s cry cuts across the training grounds. He feels Katen Kyōkotsu practically quake with glee. He swings his arms around, and sends a giant wave of air spinning, hurtling, careening towards Jūshirō. Jūshirō blocks, ducks his head. The air envelopes him, whirls around him like a tornado, and for a good half a minute, Shunsui cannot see him at all. _He hasn’t fallen, though. I know that much. And that attack doesn’t seem to have impacted his spiritual pressure at all – damn, he’s something._ Soon, the wind clears, and Jūshirō seems to rematerialize in the air above Shunsui.

_Is he – oh, dear gods, seriously?!_

Jūshirō’s smiling.

“Good one, Shunsui!” he calls. “Shame you missed me, though!”

“I won’t miss this time,” growls Shunsui, winding up once more. Katen Kyōkotsu nudges him. “That was quick,” Shunsui mutters. “Bored of this game already, are ya?” She only nudges further. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll play somethin’ else in a minute. Just lemme get this attack in, all right?”

“What’s the hold-up?”

“Nothin’ for you to worry about, pal!” shouts Shunsui. _“Bushōgoma!”_

Jūshirō seems even more ready for the attack this time, if such a thing is possible. He shifts slightly sideways, sizing up the shape of the gusts of wind spiraling towards him. When the wind arrives, he thrusts the sword in his left hand directly into it – _what the hell’s that gonna do? You can’t attack wind,_ thinks Shunsui. But then, Shunsui gasps. The power of his Bushōgoma starts to disappear, as if it’s being funneled away into the point of Jūshirō’s blade. And just like that, the spinning wind is gone.

Jūshirō’s still smiling.

 _I told you we should play a different game_ , Katen Kyōkotsu whispers inside his head. _I told you_.

“Shut up,” Shunsui tells her. “At least I released you, you creep. Be grateful.”

She bristles. _We’re playing something else now._

“ _Fine_ ,” says Shunsui, “just – ”

But then, he senses a subtle shift in Jūshirō’s spiritual pressure, a slight summoning of power. _What’s he – ?_ Suddenly, a wave of air shoots out, lightning-fast, from the blade in Jūshirō’s right hand. It hits Shunsui before Shunsui even fully registers that it’s coming. The wind whips past his face, tugging at his hair and clothes, and Shunsui finds himself lost, fumbling for any clue as to which way is up and which way is down. He catches a glimpse of sky through the chaos of the whirling wind – _that must be up –_ and he flash-steps with all his might, hoping that he might emerge above the tumult.

As luck would have it, he does. Shunsui sighs with relief. When he looks down, he sees the last of the wind dispelling, still faintly visible and still circling around on itself in feisty little rotaries. _But where’s Jūshirō?_ Shunsui looks about him in all directions. At first, he sees nothing – but then, out of nowhere, he senses Jūshirō’s presence off to his right. Jūshirō’s blade just misses Shunsui’s upper arm. Shunsui flings one blade up in a desperate parry, and slips his other blade underneath, aiming at Jūshirō’s leg. But Jūshirō swings around and bears down on Shunsui from above, crossing his blades and applying a tremendous amount of force to the blow. Shunsui crosses his own blades in response and shoves right back. The deadlock is fierce. Jūshirō’s face is mere inches from Shunsui’s. And Shunsui, breathing hard and willing his arms not to shake, finds himself staring directly into Jūshirō’s eyes.

They’re everything Shunsui expected – green, pure, even, calm – but right now, as their weapons clash beneath the sweltering springtime sun, they are so, _so_ much more than that. They are strong, and they are fierce, and they are intent. They are hypnotic. They’re very nearly magnetic. Shunsui cannot look away. _Are these the eyes of a man who can look at me without fear?_ Shunsui catches himself wondering. _Are these eyes strong enough to see my fucked-up shikai for what it is, and still look me in the face without turning away afterwards?_ _Fuck me..._ Shunsui dares to think to himself. _I think they might be..._ Shunsui lets his own gaze bore into Jūshirō’s. He can smell the sweat on Jūshirō’s skin, sharp, strong, but somehow sweet – he can feel the heat of Jūshirō’s hushed, rushing breaths as they escape his parted lips and ghost over Shunsui’s cheek – he can feel drops of perspiration rolling down his own face, can feel his heart pounding, pounding, _pounding_ , in his chest –

 _What are you DOING, you fool?_ Katen Kyōkotsu’s sharp voice slices through his lapse in focus. Her words rattle around like bones inside his skull. _I told you – I want to play a new game! Stop this nonsense, and play a new game!_

 _At once, m’lady_ , thinks Shunsui, jarred, and consequently unable to do anything but obey her. A roar emerges unbidden from his throat as he redoubles his efforts. Jūshirō grunts as Shunsui places new strain the engagement. _He’s struggling a little. Good. Now’s my chance –_ and Shunsui breaks the contact between Jūshirō’s blades and his own, raising his right sword and slamming it back down again, sending Jūshirō reeling backwards and downwards several feet. Jūshirō tumbles once in the air, and then regains his footing. From the way he holds his weapons, Shunsui can see that he’s on the defensive. Pieces of his white hair are plastered to his forehead with sweat. His chest heaves. His lips tremble. The image of Jūshirō crashing to the cobblestones in the middle of the street and fighting for breath flashes briefly across Shunsui’s mind, and for a moment, Shunsui worries. _Is he all right?_ But then Shunsui’s gaze returns to those eyes, to those unwavering eyes, and he sees the truth. _Those are not the eyes of a man about to back down,_ he knows. _I’m just going to have to trust him to know his limits._

 _Shunsui!_ It’s Katen Kyōkotsu again, and she’s not happy. _Are we playing or not?_

“We’re playing,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

_Then why don’t you make a move, before –_

And then, Jūshirō’s above him. _That’s one quick flash-step,_ Shunsui thinks again. He grins up at Jūshirō. “I don’t think so, pal,” he says.

“Oh?” replies Jūshirō, raising the blade in his right hand.

Shunsui bounds up to land above Jūshirō. “Nope. I don’t think so.” He brings the blade in his own right hand back, and launches himself downwards. _“Takaoni!”_ he shouts, and offers Jūshirō a massive, heavy downward stroke.

Jūshirō raises both of his blades to block Shunsui’s attack. _“Whoa!”_ he exclaims as Shunsui’s weapons meet his own, “ _whoa!_ You – Shunsui, you got stronger all of a sudden!” And then he’s hurtling backwards once again, and it’s only with a considerable effort that he manages to right himself before he crashes all the way down to the grass.

“Damn right I got stronger,” snarls Shunsui. He raises his blade again. _“Takaoni!”_ he cries once more, and this time, his attack sends Jūshirō straight to the ground. Jūshirō slams into the grassy field. He lands, hard, on his back, but he wastes no time in rising again, swords at the ready.

Katen Kyōkotsu snickers inside Shunsui’s head. _You had to choose afternoon, didn’t you? Not early evening?_

“He set the time,” says Shunsui grudgingly, watching as Jūshirō slowly floats upwards.

 _Hmm._ Katen Kyōkotsu pouts. _You can hold him here until sundown, can’t you?_

“Yes…” says Shunsui, knowing exactly what she’s thinking and not liking it one bit.

 _Please?_ she implores, using a suspiciously sweet tone of voice. _Please, Shunsui? It’s my favorite game, you know._

“That’s not what you said last time,” Shunsui points out. “You were pretty into  _Takaoni_ last time.”

His zanpakutō only tuts at him. _So what? I’m a refined lady. I’m allowed to change my tastes now and then if I want to._

“Refined lady, my ass,” says Shunsui.

She doesn’t take that well at all.

 _Hold him here until sundown_ , she says, firmly.

“C’mon, babe,” Shunsui tries, “can’t ya – ”

 _Sundown_ , she repeats. _I won’t have it any other way._

 

***

 

**_Repeat after me._ **

_“Repeat after me.”_

**_Don’t get cute._ **

_“Can’t help it, m’lady. I couldn’t stop being cute if I tried.”_

_She bristles, then calms herself. They’ve been practicing in the clearing for a good several hours; it’s no surprise, Shunsui reflects, that her patience is wearing thin._

_Though, to be fair, he’s not exactly making things easy for her._

_Probably, it’s what they call a “defense mechanism.”_

_Definitely, he’s still too freaked out to care._

**_Kyōraku Shunsui,_ ** _Katen Kyōkotsu tries once more,_ **_repeat after me._ **

_“Kyōraku Shunsui,” he says, grinning like an asshole, “repeat after me.”_

**_What,_ ** _she hisses,_ **_will it take to get through to you?_ **

_“Why,” he shoots back, “are you so interested in using your powers to turn me into a creep?”_

_Laughter, then. Piercing, ear-splitting laughter. Shunsui squeezes his eyes shut and almost drops his swords to clap his hands to his ears, before he realizes it won’t make a shred of difference - the laughter’s coming from inside his own gods-damned head, after all. “What,” he growls through gritted teeth, “is so funny?”_

**_Our powers,_ ** _she says, laughter still lingering around the edges of her words._ **_Our powers, Shunsui, not my powers. You woke me up, Kyōraku Shunsui - you allowed me to become what I am._ **

_“Fuck off.”_

**_It’s true._ **

_“Fuck off, I said -”_

**_It’s TRUE,_ ** _she roars, and he cringes. She waits, coolly allowing him to collect himself. After a moment, she continues speaking, gently._ **_You’re already a creep, Kyōraku Shunsui,_ ** _she says. He could swear he hears some sick kind of pleasure in her voice._ **_You’re already a creep, and you’ll always be a creep, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Now,_ ** _she says,_ **_are you ready to repeat after me properly, like the good little boy I know you can be?_ **

_He nods, once. He supposes his patience is wearing thin, too; he feels drained, empty, hopeless. “Yes, m’lady,” he says._

**_Good._ ** _She twitches, satisfied._ **_Do you see those shadows on the ground?_ ** _she asks._

_“...shadows?”_

_He scans the swaying grass below his feet. Indeed, there are shadows there, cast by the grand, bowing boughs of the trees overhead. “Yes,” he says softly. He brings his gaze up to scan the whole of the clearing. In the pink light of pre-dusk, he realizes, there are shadows everywhere. He says so - “Yes,” he breathes. “There are shadows everywhere…”_

_He feels a sliver of power starting to tingle inside his chest._ **_Look into the shadows,_ ** _Katen Kyōkotsu murmurs. Her voice is smooth and low, and it reminds him of sake and setting suns and sex. Suddenly, strangely, he feels at ease. He hums his compliance. “Look into the shadows,” he hears himself say, and he fancies that his own voice is dark and husky, like a seasoned but insatiable lover._ **_Good…_ ** _Katen Kyōkotsu sighs on the fringes of his consciousness._ **_Good, Shunsui…_ **

_Gradually, gently, a darkness begins to press into the edges of Shunsui’s vision. For a moment, he panics - “M’lady,” he says, any quality of romance gone from his voice, replaced by sheer terror. “M’lady, what - ”_

**_Hush, Shunsui…_ ** _she says. The darkness still presses. For the first time, he realizes how slow his heartbeat has grown._ **_It’s all right, Shunsui. I’ll protect you, for now - I promise._ **

_“...for now?” he asks, trembling._

**_Just look into the shadows, Shunsui._ **

_“Look into the shadows…”_

**_That’s right… look into the shadows…_ **

_“Look… i-into the shadows…”_

**_Look into the shadows… and repeat after me…_ **

_“Repeat after me…”_

_He says this unconsciously, so Katen Kyōkotsu lets it slide. The darkness presses harder, deeper. Shunsui stands, swaying and dazed, gazing into the depths of the shadows before him as his world grows black._ **_Repeat after me, Kyōraku Shunsui,_ ** _she says, caressing her master with her voice and her powers._

_“Yes, m’lady...”_

_She smiles again; he’s certain of this._

_And then, she says..._

 

***

 

They’ve been fighting for a long, long time.

It seems that way to Jūshirō, anyway. He’s getting tired. He can feel his body getting tired. Not to the point of danger – at least, he doesn’t think so – but tired nonetheless. His hair and his uniform are soaked through with sweat, and it’s nearly all he can do to parry Shunsui’s attacks and riposte with his own. But despite all that, Jūshirō is happy. Terribly, terribly happy. This is, by far, the best spar he’s ever had. He and Shunsui seem to be fairly evenly matched – a point on which Jūshirō can’t help but pride himself a little, because it’s overwhelmingly clear that Shunsui is an incredible swordsman.

What’s more, he doesn’t think that Shunsui is holding back. _No – there’s no way he’s holding back,_ Jūshirō decides, as another wild blast of air from Shunsui’s _Bushōgoma_ careens towards him. That makes him happier than anything else. Usually, when Jūshirō spars, his opponents are cautious, wary. They are Jūshirō’s classmates, and they recognize that Jūshirō can only push his afflicted body so far, and as a consequence, they tend to go easy on him. _Because they don’t know how far I can actually go. They’ve never let me show them._ Jūshirō understands completely why they do it – _but it isn’t fair. Not really._ Still, those classtime spars have given him ample opportunity to hone his technique in low-stakes situations, and thanks to that, he’s suspected for a while now that both his form and his control are nearly unparalleled.

He smiles again. Shunsui is proving his suspicions right today.

Their fight has taken on a quality of something like poetry. Attack, parry, counterattack, flash-step, attack again, bursts of spinning air from Shunsui and Jūshirō both, attack again, counterattack again, flash-step again, competition to gain the higher ground – because Jūshirō figured out very quickly that when Shunsui says “Takaoni,” the combatant who is situated above the other gains a significant advantage in strength. _Which answers my earlier questions to some extent_ , Jūshirō had reflected. _What he meant by “games,” and why he asked me to move above him._ One aspect of that still irks him though – _why would Shunsui begin by taking away something that benefits him?_ But there would be time to think about that later – because right now, a new attack from Shunsui is imminent. Jūshirō blocks, and attempts a riposte, but his blade only meets Shunsui’s, as Shunsui has expertly shifted his weapons in a clever parry of his own – _and so it continues,_ thinks Jūshirō, still smiling.

The sky has turned to pale pink above them. Long shadows stretch across the grass. The deep light sets the angles of Shunsui’s face in sharp relief, and his dark skin shines with sunlight and sweat. Jūshirō watches him closely as their weapons clash time and time again. Shunsui’s eyes flit about, alternately taking in the flurry of blows in which he’s engaged, and the sky, and the ground. _He’s thinking. He’s thinking fast._ He seems to be muttering to himself, too quietly and too indistinctly for Jūshirō to hear, even at this close distance. _Something new is coming_ , Jūshirō realizes slowly. _Some new… “game,” perhaps._ His smile twitches a little; at the same time, twin peals of delighted, boyish laughter ring in the back of his mind. How apt, he can’t help but think, that Shunsui’s shikai attacks are named after children’s games, given that his own zanpakutō spirits are children themselves. _Practically made to spar,_ Jūshirō thinks again.

But then the thought evaporates, as Shunsui leaps above him and shouts _“Takaoni!”_ He bears down on Jūshirō with what seems to be all his strength. _Whoa – I can’t – I –_  and then Jūshirō is sailing down, down, down, unable to stop himself from smashing lopsided into the grass. He hears a faint _crack_ and feels a spike of pain in his left shoulder. He remains crumpled on the ground for a moment, probably for longer than he needs to, strictly speaking, adjusting his grip of his left hand on Sōgyo no Kotowari’s hilt. _I can still use this arm, right? Surely –_ but he isn’t given time to complete the thought, because suddenly, Shunsui is standing over him, swinging his blade around to Jūshirō’s left side. _Well. There’s proof that he isn’t going easy on me, if I needed it._ Reflexively, Jūshirō thrusts his left blade upwards in a parry. Pain rips through his shoulder as Shunsui’s blade meets his. Jūshirō gasps, and can’t stop himself from letting out a weak little cry. _No,_ he insists, forcing the thought through the pain. _I’m not giving up this easily._ He springs up from the ground using every ounce of power his legs can muster and sends the blade in his right hand whistling towards Shunsui’s exposed left side.

But then, the strangest thing happens. All of a sudden, Shunsui is gone.

 _That wasn’t a flash-step_ , thinks Jūshirō. _What was…? Where did he…?_

“Gotcha,” comes a whisper from right behind Jūshirō. Then: _“Kageoni.”_

Jūshirō feels a tremor of weakness shoot through his entire body. The world pitches and swims before him. He can’t see straight. He can’t stand up straight. He can’t think straight. _What… what the hell?_ Everything seems to move in slow-motion. Black shadows begin to close in on the edges of his vision. Dimly, he’s aware of Shunsui’s blade inching forwards, threatening to slide against the soft flesh of his forearm and draw his blood. Jūshirō feels powerless. Jūshirō feels empty. Jūshirō feels… _Why should I feel this way? W-what happened? What is this power?_ Jūshirō feels… Inexplicably, Jūshirō feels… _I feel…_

_Despair…_

 

***

 

 _What are you doing?_ Shunsui roars in his mind to Katen Kyōkotsu. _I told you to pull back your power!_

_He’s still alive, isn’t he?_

“That’s not good enough!” Shunsui hisses aloud, furious. "Look at him! You’re _killing_ him!”

 _No,_ she corrects, _we're killing him, Shunsui. We. You and me together. It’s a team effort, this thing that we do._

“You _also_ didn’t tell me when we were practicing,” Shunsui snarls, “that this would happen! That this shadow game of yours can fucking _kill_ people!” He watches as Jūshirō sways dangerously to one side, as he nearly falls - it is only through the sheer force of his reiatsu, Shunsui sees, that he stays standing at all. _“Why,"_  he asks, his fury mounting, “didn’t you tell me?”

 _What do you think my job is, Kyōraku Shunsui?_ she asks smoothly. _Do you fancy me a  peacekeeper?_

“You’re insane!” he cries.

 _You’re insane,_ she says, mimicking him.

“Pull back your power! _Now_ , you bitch!”

 _Those aren't the rules_ , she leers cheerfully. _Those aren't the rules._

Shunsui can only freeze, hoping she doesn’t push his arm further.

 _You’ve nearly got him!_ snarls Katen Kyōkotsu. _Why stop now? Finish him, Shunsui! Finish him!_

Shunsui shakes his head.

_We’ve won, Shunsui! We’ve won the game! Now, win the fight, too!_

“I can’t…” he breathes.

_What?_

“I _can’t_.”

A chill ripples up Shunsui’s spine. _You’re afraid_ , she says.

“Obviously,” he whispers.

 

***

 

_I feel... despair..._

So, then.

This is what Shunsui had meant by “weird.” This is what Shunsui had been afraid of. Jūshirō, weak body quaking from the strain of the fight and the draining effects of this strange power, understands now.

 _There’s something not unlike this power hiding in his soul,_  Jūshirō thinks hazily. _He was afraid of what would happen if anyone knew._

Slowly, slowly, Shunsui’s blade slides further and further forward. _If I don’t make a move soon…_

Jūshirō closes his eyes.

 

***

 

 _He hasn’t given up yet,_ says Katen Kyōkotsu. _Finish him NOW, before he does something!_

“I…”

_Shunsui!_

“Will you pull back your power?”

_That’s no fun._

“Please!”

_What, you WANT to leave him alive?_

“Yes! Yes, you _freak,_ yes!”

She pauses. _He’s dangerous to you, Shunsui._

“Wha… what?” he asks, genuinely stagnated for the first time since their conversation began.

She only giggles. _You’re dangerous to him,_ she says, _and he’s dangerous to you._

“That - that doesn’t - m’lady, you’re not making _sense -_ ”

Now, she laughs in earnest. _You mean..._ _you don’t understand...?_

 

***

 

Jūshirō forces his spiritual pressure to surge.

_I can do this._

He feels his power grow.

_I can._

He feels the despair within him begin to fade.

_I can prove to Shunsui that this power won’t damn him._

_I’m stronger than this._

_I’m stronger than despair._

Jūshirō grips the sword in his right hand tight, preparing his attack.

_I can do this._

_I can win._

And he smiles again.

_I can win, and I can give Shunsui hope._

 

***

 

“Dangerous? I… him? Dangerous? I…”

 _Ah. I see._ Shunsui can feel Katen Kyōkotsu dimming her power, returning it almost to the faint glow at which she prefers to rest in her sealed form. _You have no idea at all, do you, Shunsui? That’s incredible, truly._

“Tell me?”

_I don’t think I will._

_“_ Tell me,” he begs, desperate.

 _I think_ , she says, an uncharacteristic seriousness permeating her tone, _that this, Kyōraku Shunsui, is something you should figure out for yourself._

“No!” he cries. “Please! Tell me! _Tell me!”_

He knows she’s considering. _Well…_ she whispers, after what feels like a very long time, _I will say this. Think of our power, Shunsui. Then, think of your heart. Then, think of…_ again, she pauses. _Think of everyone you’ve ever cared for. And ask yourself if all three can – and should – truly exist in the same place at the same time._

“What… what is that supposed to mean?”

In response, she only slips out of her shikai. Shunsui is left gaping, gasping, guessing, with his small daishō in his hands.

 _We’re done playing for today, Shunsui,_ she says.

 

***

 

Just like that, the despair vanishes.

Jūshirō shudders, and gulps the pure, clean air – _I was holding my breath before. I didn’t even notice._

He whirls around and sees Shunsui standing stock-still behind him. His zanpakutō is sealed again. “Shunsui?” Jūshirō whispers, seeing his haggard, drawn face.

“We’re not done yet,” Shunsui replies, raising his sealed weapons. “First blood, remember?”

“I remember,” says Jūshirō, but he sees that Shunsui has no heart left for the fight. “Shunsui. How… how about we call it a draw?”

But Shunsui shakes his head. “First blood,” he says. “Rules are rules.”

"It’s just a spar,” Jūshirō says. “Between – between – _friends_. Surely – ”

“No. We agreed first blood. First blood it is.”

Jūshirō sets his countenance. _He’s surprisingly stubborn._ “Fine,” Jūshirō says, and he springs backwards and lands lightly on the grass. Shunsui watches cautiously from where he stands. _Time to seal up again, boys,_ Jūshirō says to Sōgyo no Kotowari. _Thank you for a good fight today._ He extends his twin swords out in front of him, and the blades converge, melding seamlessly together to form one, single katana again. Jūshirō takes up the blade with his right hand. “First blood?” he calls across the field to Shunsui.

“I – yes… Jūshirō, we literally _just_ went over this – ”

“Good.” Jūshirō raises his left hand, palm upwards. His shoulder twinges, but he ignores the pain for the time being.

“Jūshirō, what are you – ” Shunsui begins to charge across the field, seeing what Jūshirō is about to do. “Don’t you – that’s cheating! That’s gotta be cheating!”

“Too late,” says Jūshirō evenly, and he draws Sōgyo no Kotowari across the calloused skin of his palm. It hurts, but not very much. He raises his hand to show Shunsui. Small rivulets of red drip through his fingers and down his wrist, glistening brightly, boldly, against his pale skin. “First blood,” he says, laughing. “You win!”

And then Jūshirō collapses, utterly spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone! At long last - the new-and-(hopefully?)-improved version of Chapter 4!
> 
> Apologies, as always, that it's taken me so long. Grad school stuff and holiday/family stuff has kept me pretty well occupied lately. Hoping to get back to a slightly more regular posting schedule after the new year - fingers crossed that I'll be able to get a new chapter up every two weeks or so. We'll see! Wish me luck and lots of free time haha :)
> 
> I hope the structure of this chapter works, with the little broken-up mini-flashbacks and all. If anyone is confused or thinks it doesn't quite read nicely, by the way, do let me know? I'm always open to constructive criticism, and I'm more than happy to re-work aspects of this chapter if they're not clean.
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading everyone! And, hey - happy new year!


	5. That Red Sunset Glow

_Well, shit._

Shunsui frowns.

Jūshirō’s out cold. Shunsui has called his name, has slapped him gently across the face, has slapped him none-too-gently across the face, and has, at this point, just about run out of ideas.

 _Jeez. What do I do now?_ Shunsui’s initial thought had been to get Jūshirō off the field, to get him out of the sun and the wind, and out of the way of any other students who might want to use the grounds to spar, but the angle of Jūshirō’s left arm had stopped him _Oh. Now, that’s just fantastic_ , Shunsui had thought. The way the arm sticks out is a little bit funny, a little bit wrong. Jūshirō’s left shoulder slumps down lower than his right, and faint bruising is beginning to show along what Shunsui can see of his collarbone. Shunsui doesn’t want to risk injuring the arm any further if he can help it, and he’s worried that moving Jūshirō will do just that.

Shunsui takes solace in two things, though. First, there’s the steady rise and fall of Jūshirō’s chest. Jūshirō’s breaths are shallow, but they’re even and regular – _thank the gods_ , Shunsui can’t help but think. Second, there’s his spirit energy.  Shunsui is in awe of its force and vitality. Even while he’s unconscious on the ground, Jūshirō’s spirit energy still flows with remarkable vigor. _It might even be stronger now than when he was standing up_ , Shunsui realizes as a wayward tendril of Jūshirō’s reiatsu brushes up against his own. _That… that can’t be right. Can it?_ The wind rustles across the grounds and over Shunsui’s skin, which is still wet with sweat. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he shivers a little. _I guess whatever damage Katen Kyōkotsu did wasn’t the lasting kind._

But no matter how strong Jūshirō might be, there’s still the matter of what, exactly, to do with him. _Should I try and get a closer look at that arm?_ Shunsui wonders. Most of the injury is hidden by the layers of cloth of the Academy uniform, and with so much fabric in the way, it’s hard to gauge the wound’s severity. “Uh. Jūshirō?” Shunsui says, for what has to be the tenth time at least, but, just as he expected, he receives no response. “Dammit,” he mutters. Feeling remarkably out of his depth and oddly self-conscious, Shunsui takes careful hold of the fabric covering Jūshirō’s left shoulder and attempts to push it down Jūshirō’s arm as gently as he can. Jūshirō winces feebly when Shunsui brushes the shoulder. Shunsui stops the movement for a second, watching closely. He tries to push the fabric down again, but Jūshirō’s head whips around to the side, and his jaw clamps shut, and the fingers of his left hand, coated in that thin layer of drying blood, begin to twitch. Shunsui sighs, exasperated. “ _C’mon_ , man,” he says. “Help me out here, would ya?”

“Excuse me?”

“Huh?” Shunsui turns to look behind him. “Uhhh,” he says. “Uh. Um. H-hi…”

The chick standing behind him is absolutely gorgeous. Her dark brown hair is pulled into some kind of loose, effortless-looking, twisty thing in the back of her head. Her rosy lips are parted in concern. Her bright blue eyes, shining in the setting sun, are bordered by a pair of round, bronze spectacles. She’s a petite thing, with a tiny waist, and curves which are small but soft, and which complement the size of her feminine frame very, very nicely. Shunsui has to stop himself from giving her a full, conspicuous up-and-down once-over – but boy, oh, boy, is that difficult for him to do. He settles for fixing his stare at the opening at the top of her uniform, where he catches the slightest glimpse of supple, pink flesh. She’s modest enough not to let her neckline dip down very far, but, Shunsui figures, it’s better than nothing.

 _Hot damn_ , he thinks.

“I thought that might be Shirō-kun,” she says. She takes a few steps forward and kneels opposite Shunsui, on Jūshirō’s right side. “I’d know that spirit energy anywhere.”

“Shirō-kun?” repeats Shunsui, whose brain seems to have frozen up for the time being. “Oh – oh! You mean, Jūshirō?”

“Ah – yes.” A little smile crosses her pretty face, one that says _I’d have thought that much was perfectly obvious._ Shunsui resists the urge to smack himself on the forehead for his stupidity. “Hi, by the way,” the girl continues. “I’m Shimizu Mai.” When Shunsui just keeps on staring and says nothing, she adds, “I’ve known Shirō-kun for a long time. We were children together in Sakahone.”

“Oh – right,” Shunsui finally manages to say, “right.” _Jūshirō’s from the Rukongai, huh? Who knew?_ “Uh. Uh – Kyōraku Shunsui. Is me. Is my name. I – uh. Jūshirō and I only met recently, actually.”

“Kyōraku Shunsui…” muses Shimizu Mai. “Isn’t that,” she asks, bronze-framed eyes flickering briefly to Shunsui’s two sealed swords and then back up to his still slack-jawed face, “the name of the second first-year student to achieve shikai?”

Shunsui offers a stilted, little laugh. “Uh. Could be…”

Shimizu Mai raises her neat, thin eyebrows. “You should be proud, Kyōraku-san. It’s an honor.”

“I - I guess -”

“It _is,_ ” Shimizu Mai insists. Her face softens. “But whether you agree with me or not, I’m glad to have formally met you. When you and Shirō-kun rise through the ranks, I’ll be able to say that I knew both of you way back when.”

“Rise through the ranks, huh?” For the first time since Shimizu Mai showed up, Shunsui feels his face begin to relax into something like a smile. “I… I dunno about that…”

She smirks. “Fair point,” she says lightly. “To have a shot at becoming a seated officer, you’ll probably need to keep your eyes open for the duration of at least one whole tactics lesson.”

Shunsui binks. “Uh - you mean - ?”

“I thought I recognized you, Kyōraku-san,” Shimizu Mai says, her smirk growing. “We’re in the same tactics lecture - I think you usually sit a few rows in front of me. You… _do_ tend to fall asleep in class, don’t you, Kyōraku-san...?”

Shunsui can feel his cheeks going red. “Um. Every now and then.”

Her smirk turns slowly into a full-on smile. “No need to feel embarrassed, Kyōraku-san,” she says. “I think it’s sort of endearing.”

“Oh. Well. In that case – uh, thanks. I guess.” He pauses, hoping that a clumsy smile of some sort might slide its way onto his own face. After a few moments pass in silence, Shunsui clears his throat and casts his gaze downwards; as he expected, Jūshirō still lays, silent and unmoving and injured, just like he was before Shimizu Mai showed up. “Uh,” Shunsui says, keeping his eyes down and starting to feel more than a little awkward. “Uh - so - ”

“Right,” replies Shimizu Mai, with a crisp nod of her head. Instantly, she’s all business. She looks Jūshirō up and down, her brow furrowing in concentration. “Shirō-kun?” she says. She waits; but when it becomes clear that Jūshirō isn’t about to respond any time soon, she extends one hand. “Shirō-kun?” she says again, more softly this time, and with that hand, she begins to gently brush Jūshirō’s damp hair away from his forehead.

Inexplicably, Shunsui feels a sharp pang of – of _something_ – when she does that. Something unpleasant. He feels immensely uncomfortable, he realizes - but he isn’t sure why. Suddenly, he finds it difficult to look at Jūshirō’s face. _I don’t like it when she touches his hair like that,_ he realizes abruptly. His stomach tightens. He swallows. He grits his teeth and straightens his back. He feels rigid, as if his spine is made of steel. _Why?_ he asks himself. _What the hell? Why - why don’t I like that?_ Unconsciously, his gaze slips downward, and he finds himself watching the rise and fall of Jūshirō’s chest again.“I don’t think he can hear you,” Shunsui says. His voice is much rougher than he intends it to be.

“Probably not,” Shimizu Mai concedes, still stroking Jūshirō’s hair, “but it doesn’t hurt to try.” She looks back to Shunsui. “Well,” she says, “I don’t have much time before my spar begins, so let’s see if we can’t get him sorted out fairly quickly.”

“You – uh – do you think we should call for Squad Four?”

“No,” she replies, right away.

"Huh? But - he's injured, so -"

" _No,"_ Shimizu Mai says again. “That’s more trouble than it’s worth, believe me.”

“...uh. Okay, then.” _What the heck,_  Shunsui wonders,  _does she mean by that?_ “I mean, if you say so...”

“He’s fine, really,” Shimizu Mai continues, “just exhausted himself, I suspect. That… ah…” She sighs. “He does that. He means well, but he really can be an idiot, sometimes. I assume, Kyōraku-san, since you were training with him, that he’s told you something about his…” She pauses. “…his situation?”

“Situation?” says Shunsui. “Uh. No, actually.” He thinks back to the night of the celebration, to the hurried _"It's nothing,"_ that Jūshirō offered as Shunsui knelt by his side in the street. “He - uh. He never mentioned any...  _situation..._ ”

“Hmm,” she says, disapprovingly. “I’m surprised. And a little disappointed in him for that, frankly.” She turns back to Jūshirō. “Hear that, Shirō-kun?” she teases. “I’m a little disappointed in you!” Looking at Shunsui again, she says, “Well. Whatever this little incident might be, he’s seen worse, I can assure you.” Before Shunsui has time to fully process that, she rolls up her sleeves, and she starts to flit eyes up and down Jūshirō’s prone figure once more. “I think,” she says, “that we should do something about that arm of his.”

“Yeah. Good.” Shunsui scoots forward a few inches, trying to look helpful. “If I had to guess, I’d say his shoulder’s dislocated – ”

“Yes, I think so, too.”

“I couldn’t really get a good look, though – ”

“Right.” With her unoccupied hand, she begins to pull at the fabric of Jūshirō’s uniform, loosening it about the waist. “Help me get his arm free, would you, Kyōraku-san?”

“Oh – yeah, sure. ’Course. Uh – ”

“Just – here, get his shirts out of the way, just – just there – ”

“Uh. Yeah – ”

Between the two of them, they manage to remove both Jūshirō’s kosode and shitagi without too much difficulty. Shunsui grimaces when he takes in the injury in full. “Oof,” he says. The bruising extends down a good part of Jūshirō’s upper arm, and the joint of the shoulder is absolutely not where it should be.

“Yes,” Shimizu Mai agrees, “not very nice at all.” She leans in close to Jūshirō, and the hand that was previously engaged with his hair slides down to rest on his cheek. “Shirō-kun?” she says, and the tenderness in her voice brings about that unpleasant pang in Shunsui’s breast once again. Jūshirō remains still. “Shirō-kun,” she repeats softly, “this is going to hurt, all right?” The breeze picks up again, and Jūshirō, despite the residual heat of the day, shivers as the air blows lightly across his sweat-soaked skin.  “Let’s make this fast,” says Shimizu Mai. “I don’t want him to catch a chill. You know what to do, Kyōraku-san?”

“More or less,” says Shunsui, positioning himself so that he can firmly grasp Jūshirō’s wrist and bicep at the same time. “You just – move it up this way. Kinda slow-ish. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“ ’kay. I’m goin’ for it.”

Shimizu Mai nods, and clings tightly to Jūshirō’s right hand. Shunsui feels some resistance as he begins to ease Jūshirō’s arm upwards. Jūshirō tenses, and his breath hitches for half a second. Shunsui stops. “It’s all right,” Shimizu Mai says to Shunsui, and he can see that she understands his hesitation. “You can keep going.” Shunsui does. As he pushes against Jūshirō’s arm, he hears Shimizu Mai whispering quietly to Jūshirō, small, meaningless words of comfort that, Shunsui believes, can’t possibly be doing as much good as she seems to think they are.

The pang in Shunsui’s breast returns in full force. _That does it._ Abruptly, he shoves Jūshirō’s arm into position, and he hears and feels a strong _pop_ when the joint moves into place. Jūshirō’s bright green eyes snap open. “ _Ah – !_ ” he gasps. He grabs at his left shoulder with his right hand, and he blinks rapidly, and his chest shudders and heaves, and his mouth gapes - he is the very picture, Shunsui realizes, of a man who wants to cry out, but who cannot draw the breath to do so.

“You’re all right, Shirō-kun,” says Shimizu Mai, watching Jūshirō carefully with those flitting eyes of hers. Jūshirō’s fists have clenched, and his eyes have squeezed themselves shut again. The shuddering and heaving of his chest has grown faster, more pronounced. “You’re all right,” Shimizu Mai repeats - but Shunsui could swear he hears a touch of fear in her voice. “You’re all right, Shirō-kun - you’re all right -”

Shunsui, still holding uselessly onto Jūshirō’s left arm, feels dazed. _I don’t like this,_ he thinks. He can’t tear his eyes away from Jūshirō’s quaking body. _I don’t like this… I don’t like a damn thing about this…_ He feels completely helpless, and more than a little overwhelmed. _Can I help him?_ Shunsui wonders as he watches Jūshirō struggle. _No,_ he recognizes, _no… I can’t…_ He doesn’t even know what’s wrong with Jūshirō, he realizes. There’s the shoulder, sure, but Shunsui doesn’t think an injury like that could lead to something like… like… _like whatever the hell this is,_ comes the weak, uncertain end of Shunsui’s thought.

But then, another thought follows the first one up.

_Katen Kyōkotsu…?_

Shunsui considers. He grinds his teeth together as Jūshirō continues to quiver and shake on the ground before him. He’s still not breathing. His body is a knot of desperate tension; it’s as if he’s trying with all his might to stop something - _something - but what? -_ from happening beneath his skin or inside his chest.

_I… I don’t think Katen Kyōkotsu can do that… could have done that…_

_...could she?_

Shunsui knows full well that his zanpakutō has one hell of a sadistic streak, but her powers, he’s pretty sure, work more subtly than this. _She hurt him,_ Shunsui knows, remembering the way Jūshirō had stumbled and swayed, silhouetted in the setting sun, when Shunsui stepped on his shadow. _She hurt him with that fuckin’ kageoni of hers. But this… this doesn’t feel like that… this feels different, somehow..._

Suddenly, a burst of spiritual pressure explodes outwards and rams into Shunsui. Shunsui gasps, and he feels his fingers dig hard into Jūshirō’s arm, to which he, for some goddamn reason, is still clinging fiercely. Jūshirō’s brow has furrowed deeply. He’s thrown his head back, and his body has frozen, save for his pale lips, which twitch once - twice - _c’mon,_ Shunsui thinks furiously, _c’mon, man - c’mon, Jūshirō - tell me you’re gonna breathe, man, tell me you’re gonna -_

And then, much to Shunsui’s relief, he does.

Jūshirō’s limbs go slack. His face goes slack. His head lolls backwards and rolls to one side on the ground - Shimizu Mai, who Shunsui had pretty much forgotten about for a few panicked seconds, scoots around behind Jūshirō so that she can lift his head onto her lap and cradle it there. She holds it reverently, but delicately, as if it’s a finely wrought treasure that might break if she’s even a little bit careless with it. She brings her fingers to Jūshirō’s forehead, and she starts working them through his hair again, brushing it back and away from his pale face.

And Jūshirō doesn’t seem to be aware of any of it. In fact, it seems to Shunsui that Jūshirō is simply relishing the taste of this springtime air - _and can you blame him? After all that? Shit, I can’t._ Jūshirō’s chest rises and falls, slowly, almost grandly. The expression on his face is one of quiet relief.

The three of them stay like that for a long moment. Jūshirō breathes, silently and steadily. Shimizu Mai lovingly cradles Jūshirō’s head. And Shunsui, helpless, hopeless idiot that he is, still clutches Jūshirō’s left arm in his sweaty, stupid hands.

After a time - Shunsui has no idea how long - Jūshirō’s eyes open. When they do, they are clear and bright. They flicker left, then right, then left again, as if Jūshirō is searching for something, but can’t quite remember where it is. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but he seems to think better of it, closing his mouth and furrowing that black brow of his once more. Shunsui risks taking a glance at Shimizu Mai, but Shimizu Mai, for her part, only has eyes - _and hands,_ Shunsui notes, seeing the way her slender fingers still draw, in slow, repetitive movements, through Jūshirō’s white hair - for Jūshirō.

Now, it’s Shunsui’s turn to open his mouth stupidly, and leave it hanging there for an awkward half-second while he figures out what to do next. He considers for that awkward half-second, and then for two awkward half-seconds, and then three, and then -

 _Fuck it,_ he decides.

“Yo,” he says softly. “Jūshirō…?”

Jūshirō blinks. He seems dazed. He tries to lift his head, and doesn’t seem to notice when Shimizu Mai’s hands gently guide it back down to her lap. “Sh… _ah…_ Shun...” Jūshirō says, his partially formed words coming out in this strange, small voice. He closes those green eyes again, and he takes a deep, deep breath, then he lets it out in a heavy, heavy sigh. His eyes snap open once more. _“Shunsui!”_ Jūshirō finally manages - and, bizarrely, a massive smile splits his ashen face.

“I – uh – y-yeah?” Shunsui stutters, caught more than a little off-guard by Jūshirō’s response. Shimizu Mai is observing closely, he sees. Probably, he figures, she’s wondering why Jūshirō hasn’t asked about her being here just yet. Shunsui can’t help but smile back at Jūshirō. He still feels shaky as hell, sure - but Shunsui knows that he’s smiling all the same. He can feel the corners of his big, dumb mouth turning upwards, can feel the smile spreading across his big, dumb face.

“That – that was incredible! That – Shunsui!” Jūshirō exclaims. “That was the best spar I’ve ever had in my _life!_ I – ” It’s only then that he notices the delicate hands still caught caringly in his damp hair. “Oh – ” he says, a little dumbly, his eyes rolling upwards as he strains to see the owner of the hands. Green eyes meet blue, and Jūshirō’s smile softens. “Mai-chan…”

“Hi, Shirō,” she says.

“Mai-chan!” says Jūshirō, lifting his head and looking backwards at his childhood friend. “It’s wonderful to see you! What – what are you…?” And for the first time since regaining consciousness, he glances around himself, from Shunsui to Shimizu Mai, to, ultimately, the state of disarray of his clothes on the ground. “Oh,” he says again. Slowly, he pushes himself upright, until he’s half-sitting and leaning heavily on his right elbow. At first, Shunsui tries to help him by guiding that gods-damned left arm in a generally upwards direction - but Jūshirō’s green eyes flash strangely at Shunsui, and Shunsui, startled, lets the arm go.  

Shimizu Mai shuffles around to Jūshirō’s side again. “You fainted, Shirō-kun,” she says helpfully. She reaches forward, as if she’s trying to take one of Jūshirō’s hands, but Jūshirō shrugs and turns his face away from her, hastily pulling at his kosode and shitagi and draping them across his shoulders, wrapping the garments haphazardly around himself. He keeps his eyes cast down. Shadows darken beneath them, and along his sharp cheekbones. Shunsui catches himself staring, jarred somewhat by the sudden change in Jūshirō’s demeanor. _How can this be the same man I was sparring with less than an hour ago?_ Jūshirō looks so young, so small, so unsure, huddled here beneath the sunset.

“But – uh – only after you gave me one hell of a fight,” Shunsui tries. Slowly, Jūshirō turns his gaze upwards to meet Shunsui’s. “Uh – um. Best spar of my life, too, man.”

“You… you mean it?”

“Hell yeah. You’re a crazy-good swordsman, dude.”

A flicker of that smile again. “You too, Shunsui.”

“Heh. You flatter.”

“Maybe. But with good reason.”

“...um.” It’s Shimizu Mai. Both Shunsui and Jūshirō turn to look at her. She clears her throat quietly. “I - I’m sorry, Shirō-kun, but I don’t have much time, so - so, I just wanted to ask - to make sure - ” She clears her throat again. “...are you all right now?” Shunsui could swear he sees her blush. “I was worried about you,” she confesses.

“I’m just fine, Mai-chan,” Jūshirō assures her. “After everything you’ve seen me through, you were worried about that little spell, were you?” He smiles fully and openly now. “Thank you, Mai-chan. You’re an incredible friend.” Shimizu Mai pushes her glasses higher up on her nose and chuckles quietly. The blush in her cheeks rises. _Oh, my gods,_ realizes Shunsui, who can’t tear his eyes away from the two of them, _she’s totally into him, isn’t she? And now that he’s awake, she’s all embarrassed about it!_ The funniest part, though, is the fact that Jūshirō clearly has no idea. _If he knew, he wouldn’t have said “friend,” probably. That’s the kiss of death when it comes to this shit._

“Mai!” shouts a voice from across the field. “Come on! It’ll be dark soon – let’s get started while we still have a little light!”

“Oh – ” says Shimizu Mai, turning to face the voice, “right! Coming!” She looks back to Jūshirō, and moves to take his hand again. This time, he lets her, clasping it tightly in his own. “Please,” she says, “let me know if you need anything, Shirō-kun. Anything at all.”

Jūshirō nods. “I will, Mai-chan.”

“Good.” She rises – a little reluctantly, Shunsui thinks. “And if I hear that you’ve gone and overexerted yourself again, I’m going to be very angry, you know.”

“I know,” says Jūshirō, laughing. “I know.”

“I’m not kidding, Shirō-kun!” she calls over her shoulder as she strides away.

“I know that, too, Mai-chan!”

_“Good!”_

“Ha-ha – good indeed!” And with that, Jūshirō lets himself fall gently backwards, tucking his right arm behind his head and closing his green eyes once more. After a moment, he cringes faintly. His right hand floats down to rest on the joint of his left shoulder. He sighs, heavily. The sigh is long and low and weary - much wearier than the sigh of a first year Academy student ought to be. Shunsui watches warily; he still feels a vague prick of concern, he realizes. Jūshirō cringes again, more faintly this time, and, eyes still closed, says, “We should probably clear the field, shouldn’t we?”

Shunsui nods in agreement, then realizes that Jūshirō can’t see him doing so. “Yeah,” he says. “Probably…”

And, strangely, just as it did in the midst of their battle, time seems once again to stop for Shunsui. That ever-present springtime breeze tousles Jūshirō’s hair, which has dried a little now, and Shunsui finds that he can’t look away from Jūshirō’s nearly still form as he lays, face-up and half-dressed, in the grass. It seems to Shunsui that he can see each and every fine line of muscle on the upper half of Jūshirō’s body – his arms, his neck, his chest, his stomach. With his steely eyes, Shunsui, almost involuntarily, traces the shapes that make up this peculiar, new acquaintance of his. _I could count his ribs if I wanted to,_ Shunsui notices, seeing the way the red glow of the setting sun accents the hard edges and the sloping curves of Jūshirō’s torso. _He’s so thin… so thin, and so gods-damned pale, too…_ In fact, if not for the soft, swaying grass of the practice field beneath him and the smell of springtime swordplay in the air about him, Shunsui might have thought that Jūshirō was lying on some wildly unconventional deathbed, and not in the middle of the zanjutsu training grounds. _He’s… he’s not okay, is he?_  Shimizu Mai's words - _"his situation" -_ slip slowly to the forefront of Shunsui's mind.  _Something..._   _there’s something…_ Shunsui stares hard at Jūshirō, at his strange, thin body, at his strange, white hair, at his strange, pale face, as if he’s searching for answers to questions which are only vaguely beginning to take shape in his mind. _There’s something wrong with him,_  Shunsui realizes slowly. _I dunno what, but there's something... something really, really wrong..._

“Shall we, then?”

Shunsui starts. Jūshirō sits up and begins to slip back into his shitagi and kosode. He leaves both untucked as he gets to his feet – he sways just a little, and, after a second’s hesitation, Shunsui stands too, and seizes Jūshirō’s right shoulder and right hand, steadying him. Jūshirō turns his smile to Shunsui. “Thanks,” he says, but then, seeing Shunsui’s troubled face, adds, “Are you all right?”

“ ’Course I am,” Shunsui says. His voice is a little higher-pitched than usual. “Uh. Kind of a ridiculous question coming from you, pal, don’t’cha think?”

“Mmm. I suppose,” Jūshirō grants him. “You make a good point.”

As they walk to the edge of the field, Shunsui can practically hear the emptiness hanging in the air between them. “So,” says Shunsui, desperate to break the silence, “who was the girl?”

“Oh! Mai, you mean?” Jūshirō smiles again. “She’s a childhood friend of mine. We’ve known each other since I was… oh, about five years old, I think.”

“She’s pretty cute,” ventures Shunsui.

“She is, isn’t she?” Jūshirō agrees, quite nonchalantly.

“Uh.” Shunsui flicks his eyes towards Jūshirō. “So. You ever… uh…”

“Hmm?”

“Y’know,” Shunsui says, trying to make the conversation seem as man-to-man as possible, “you ever… like… you and her…”

“Oh, goodness, no!” says Jūshirō, the second that understanding dawns. “No, never. Mai’s just a friend. I’m sure she doesn’t think of me like that.”

Shunsui can’t help but laugh just a little. “I wouldn’t be too sure, man. I bet you could hit that if you wanted to.”

“Maybe,” says Jūshirō, but his tone implies that he doesn’t believe it. And then, after a split second, he adds, “ _If_ I wanted to.”

“Hold up a second,” says Shunsui. “You don’t?”

“Not really.”

“You serious, man?”

“Completely.”

“No shit?”

“No… um. No… shit, Shunsui.”

“ _Damn_ …” Shunsui says, drawing out the word so that it has two or three syllables. “ ’Cuz she’s a freakin’ knockout, man. That dark hair… those curves… and those glasses, too – man, I dunno why, but I _love_ a girl with glasses…”

Jūshirō raises his black eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “if you’d like, I could put in a good word for you. I’m not sure whether she’s looking for anyone at the moment, but, ah – if you were interested in – ah – what’s the phrase? ‘Hitting that?’ – I’m sure I could nudge her in your direction.”

“Holy shit, dude – you mean it?”

“Of course.”

“That’s – that’s great! Thanks!”

“I’m can’t make any promises,” Jūshirō says, “but I’ll bring it up and see what happens. She _did_ instruct me quite firmly to let her know if I needed anything, after all,” he adds, with a cheeky half-smile.

They’ve made it to the doors of the grounds now. Jūshirō looks back to the field, where Shimizu Mai and her sparring partner and a few other students have taken up their weapons in training. “Thank you for today, Shunsui,” says Jūshirō.

“You’re crazy,” Shunsui blurts out in response.

“...huh?”

“You’re crazy,” Shunsui repeats. “I knocked your shoulder outta place, and you keeled over and were totally out of it for, like, twenty minutes, and Katen Kyōkotsu…” he trails off. “Well,” he finishes quietly, “you know what she can do now. That… that can’t have been a whole lot of fun.”

But Jūshirō only lets his smile grow wider. “That’s exactly _why_ I have to thank you,” he says.

“Wha - no _way,_ man, you can’t mean what you’re - ”

“I mean every word of it.” Jūshirō’s face is set in that smile, and his eyes are steady. “Katen Kyōkotsu and all.”

“But - my shikai - ”

“No - ”

“ - it’s _fucked,_ Jūshirō, you’ve seen that now - ”

“ - it’s _amazing,_ ” Jūshirō says firmly.

Shunsui blinks. “What?”

“It’s _amazing_ ,” Jūshirō says again. “I’ve never heard of anything like it! Making children’s games reality…” He shakes his white head gently, and his smile becomes soft. “You shouldn’t have been afraid,” he says. “We all have shadows hiding somewhere inside us, Shunsui. You, and me, and everyone else.”

Shunsui has nothing to say to that. That’s probably for the best, though - he can’t quite find his voice, for some reason.

Maybe Jūshirō senses this; maybe not. Either way, he continues to smile, and, much to Shunsui’s relief, he continues to speak. “Oh, and - ” he says, “I also - um - I have to thank you for one more thing, Shunsui.”

At that, Shunsui’s voice, just barely, returns. “Huh?” he manages.

“Well… you actually fought me. You didn’t hold back.”

Shunsui frowns once more, confused. “Why would I hold back?”

“Why would – ?”

“Yeah, man. It was a fight. We -  we were fighting. I mean, shit - it was _your_ idea, so... so... I mean… I _mean…_ well, yeah.” Shunsui’s frown deepens. “Why would I hold back?”

“I – you – ” Jūshirō stops. His smile disappears. He blinks a few times, reading Shunsui’s face very, very carefully. But then the smile returns, bigger than ever. “No reason,” he says. “No reason at all.”

The sun has sunk almost entirely. Red light in the sky gives way to faint lilac, and above that, a soft and darkening blue. Shunsui can see the first faint glimmers of stars overhead, blinking down at the training grounds. He fingers the hilt of Katen Kyōkotsu’s longer sword, curious, wondering. _I guess… I guess that means today went all right after all, m'lady,_ he thinks. He senses her smugness, and her I-told-you-so-ness, and a faint tremor of something much, much more sinister beneath both – but he ignores all of that, and turns again to face Jūshirō, who still grins happily back at him. “Well,” he says, “it was my pleasure, man. I wasn’t just bein’ nice or anything when I said that was the best spar of my life.”

Jūshirō chuckles. “That’s good to hear,” he says. “Truly.”

Shunsui stands for a long moment, pulled in, as he always is, somehow, by those green eyes. “I…” he says. “I – I better get on home. Uh. Early class tomorrow. Y’know.”

“Oh – yes, of course. Please,” says Jūshirō, who pushes on one of the heavy double doors and holds it open, gentleman-like, for Shunsui.

“Uh – thanks,” Shunsui murmurs, the words awkward and muffled, as he walks forward. “I’ll – uh – I’ll see ya ’round, Jūshirō.”

Shunsui is almost all the way through the door when he hears Jūshirō’s voice behind him.

“So – um – ”

His back is to Jūshirō completely, and Shunsui thinks that might be a good thing – that way, Jūshirō can’t see the massive, embarrassing, dopey-ass grin that slaps itself onto his face when he hears what Jūshirō says:

“Um. Same time next week?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Man, oh, man, you guys - well. First off, I think I owe each and every one of you a massive, massive THANK YOU for your patience. I know that this update is a long time in coming *coughsixweekscough* and I wanted to say how grateful I am to those of you who are sticking with me as I make my slow progress on this not-so-little-ol' fic. 
> 
> That said - two quick things! Firstly - if you happen to have read the old version of this fic, then you'll notice that these first five chapters are pretty similar to the first five in said old version. This chapter is, I think, the last chapter for a little while where that's going to hold true. Going forward, I'm going to need to write a few chapters' worth of brand-new material in order for the story to go in the direction I want it to go. So - hooray! New content! I'm excited about it, and I hope you are, too!
> 
> That brings me quite nicely into the second thing - and this one, I'm sorry to say, isn't quite as exciting. You might have noticed that I've updated the description of this fic to include a mention of a temporary hiatus. (Which - yes - I am currently breaking. I'll explain that, too.) Basically, the deal is: I'm in grad school at the moment, and my school days and workload are pretty hefty. I don't have a whole lot of time to write these days, unfortunately. I jot things down occasionally when I have the time and the chance, but that doesn't happen too often. April is when my winter term ends, and my three-week-long spring break begins - which means that April is the first time in the foreseeable future when I'm going to actually have time to write again. So, in short - that means that I will, without question, update this fic in April. It's possible that I'll post another update before then, but, given the nature of my school days and schoolwork, I can't make any promises about it. But - do know that I think about this fic almost constantly, and that I have definite plans to finish it. I just can't say when that'll be. 
> 
> So... yeah! Phew! That was kind of a lot - but I figured I owed you guys an explanation, if you'd been kind enough to stick with me thus far. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading, my friends. This fic, and Shunsui and Jūshirō, mean a hell of a lot to me, and I can't tell you how much it thrills me to know that a few people out there actually like this little story of mine. Much love to you all :) 
> 
> ...OH! Actually, forgot something. I mention in this chapter that Jūshirō grew up in the Rukongai - which might seem a little strange at first, I know, given that, canonically, the Ukitake family is a noble family. I've got a headcanon about that and some reasoning/super hard-core inference-ing to back it up, and if you'd like to, do feel free to check it out here: http://dameofnodelicacy.tumblr.com/post/154763977667/an-ukitake-headcanon-the-ukitake-family-the


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